


Set Free

by Sauri



Series: Set Free [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anti show!Jon, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, Daenerys Centric, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Dany has a family, Dany x happiness, F/M, Minor Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen, POV Multiple, Past Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Rebirth, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Viserys Targaryen Needs a Hug, and he'll get one, but I'm just taking his plot armor, dothraki women warriors should've been a thing, dragon lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauri/pseuds/Sauri
Summary: Daenerys was brought back to life against her wishes. She didn't want revenge and she didn't want to ever go west again, so she set on her path to atonement. She devoted her life to ending slavery once and for all, and 30 years later, when she finally accomplished her goal... She was brought back. Again. To the very beginning.Daenerys wasn't happy.
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen & Viserys Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen/Original Male Character(s), Drogon & Daenerys Targaryen, Missandei & Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Set Free [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800919
Comments: 258
Kudos: 338





	1. The Dragoness I

**Author's Note:**

> I've literally never written any(fiction)thing in my life. And English isn't my first language. And I have no beta, so. 
> 
> There's just too little Dany x happiness without Jon fookin snow out there. And Canon characters simply aren't good enough for my baby if I want her to have her own babies.
> 
> This was initially inspired by another time travel fic, but it became something... Else. Jon was also granted a third life and is changing things up in Westeros, but I'm not focusing on him. He'll show up later, eventually, and I'll keep him as show!Jon. So if you're his fan... I'm not sadistic, I can guarantee you that much.
> 
> This Dany lived to her 50s (same as Jon) and she worked her ass off to atone for all the shit she did, and as far as she's concerned, she done with the past. There's a ton of fics about her processing the shit storm that was s08, so I won't bother. This is her new beginning. This is her having experience and given a chance to redo everything from scratch.  
> This is Dany planting her trees, so there will be magic and dragon lore and family by blood and by heart.  
> 

Daenerys was livid.

 _Livid_.

Pity she didn't have the ability to spit fire, otherwise the whole manse would already have blown up in flames.

How could the Gods do this to her? After everything she had done, why couldn't they leave her be? What else could they possibly want from her? She had birthed dragons. She had fought in the Brief Night against dead men. She had given the rest of her live to end slavery once and for all. She had done enough. There was nothing else to give. And yet they had the nerve to bring her back _again_.

She took deep, shuddering breaths. Slowly trying to relax her body enough to stop her spasming limbs. It had been too long since she'd been this angry, and it wasn't easy to reign it in. She had been looking forward to her death for far too long. Longed for the moment when she could peacefully slip away from the living, being sure she did everything she could to make the world better. 

She wanted to be free.

Daenerys knew, however, that she wouldn't be able to have her dear freedom unless she first gave them whatever the fuck they wanted.

She lied in bed until she felt her breathing become smooth enough to not hurt her lungs. The red spots in her vision mostly gone. Limbs relaxed enough to bend at will. She sat up, still dazed, reaching down to remove the silk sheets from her body. Her eyes focused on a small, dainty hand and she froze. Was this her hand? _Whose else, you little mad thing_. She raised both up, closer to her face, finding it hard to believe regardless. Their skin was white, smooth and spotless. The nails were a healthy pink color, all trimmed neatly. All her fingers soft and meaty. It was nothing at all like her wrinkled, bony and calloused old hands.

She wasn't that old when she died, barely making it past fifty. _I didn't really die, though, did I?_ Still, considering everything she had been through, the last thing she expected when she was at her end was to be brought back to the very beginning of her own personal hell. If only she could do the same to them. To let them wrap their little ungodly fingers around the thing they wished for the most, and take it away from them at the last second.

She took another deep breath.

Daenerys didn't have to ask to know today was the day of her marriage to Khal Drogo. She simply knew. She also knew she could bring someone, anyone, back with her. Was this their way to smooth things over with her? What was the use of it, though? Whatever she did in her last life, she did it on her own. Sure, others have protected and helped her, but they were people dear to her heart and she wouldn't want them to remember that nasty life, least of all the way they died. Even if she could give them her memory instead of theirs, it wouldn't make it better. Either way, if she wanted them to know, she would tell them herself and spare them from the worst of it.

She didn't really want to live through her whole life again though. What was the point? Avoiding a few misteps would make her life less painful, sure, but it would eventually end up the same way. Ending slavery. She would definitely avoid Westeros though. Joining that stupid Brief Night obviously wasn't what the gods wanted from her, otherwise she wouldn't be here again. Freeing slaves also wasn't it, but it was something she believed in and would do it anyway. Hatching dragons also wasn't it… What did they want from her?

She felt tired and frustrated. If they could bring her back and even let her bring someone else, what did it cost them to tell her what they wanted? Why did gods have to play games? Was it really that fun to play with mortal lives? She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, her vision turning blurry. She turned her face up to the ceiling, blinking repeatedly, willing them to stop while biting her lips. Crying wouldn't solve her problems.

She knew there was no way to escape. She had no money, no contacts and no way to defend herself. If the gods wanted her to take a different path they would have brought her back way before today. And she also knew that if she didn't give them whatever they wanted, they would never let her be. _So much for not answering to them_.

Daenerys took deep breaths, closing her eyes, relaxing her whole body. She needed to find out what they wanted. Sitting around also wouldn't help, so she got up from her bed, walking directly to the looking glass across her rooms. It was a ridiculously large one, reaching almost to the ceiling and adorned with gold and gemstones on its corners. Money truly wasn't a problem for the Magister. If Viserys knew he was talked into selling his sister to a horselord by a Blackfyre he would probably burst a vein.

...Viserys. 

She would see him again.

Dany saw herself looking back at her, frowning her eyebrows and biting her bottom lip. She didn't know how she felt about her big brother. She understood he had a hard time raising her, but she didn't really know the particulars of it. Was he truly a weak man or was there some circumstance she wasn't aware of that gradually broke him? She had broken down herself and it took over a decade to pick up the pieces. If that was the case with her brother, maybe she could still help him. It wouldn't be easy though, she would probably have to break him first. But she would be there to help him patch up. She owed him that much.

Daenerys kept looking at her reflection, tilting her head. She only wore a thin shift. She had forgotten how beautiful she was. After so much fighting, politicking and scheming, combined with the lack of sleep, the lack of appetite and her own loneliness… All of it had turned her into little more than a ghost by the end. You could add twenty years to her age and people would think it was about so. She had been a spartan, skinny old woman, with dark bruises under her eyes, brittle hair and dry skin. She hadn't cared much then, since she was busy serving people, making sure they were their own masters without having everything collapse around them. It wasn't easy, but she had done it. And would do it again.

But this time she would also take care of herself. 

The time for atonement was over. Everything is in the past. If someone thought it wasn't enough then they were welcome to do better. Her mind was at ease and she had forgiven herself long ago.

Enough is enough. It was time to move on. 

Daenerys Stormborn was granted a new life, and she would take it.

Her hand went up to the looking glass, caressing her reflection. From the top of her head, to her violet eyes, to her nose and lips. Her fingers softly sliding down the cool glass, over her neck, her breastbone, her navel, her belly… Her belly. She froze, her breath hitching. 

She wasn't cursed yet.

Her other hand came up, hesitant, cradling her belly gingerly.

She wasn't cursed.

She could have children again.

Tears formed again in her eyes again and her vision blurred. She took her gaze from her reflection and turned it to her belly, biting her lower lip. Was this it? Was that the reason they brought her back? _I did everything I could and then some, except for leaving any heir behind_.

It must be. Otherwise why bring her so far back? Having a baby was the single thing she wanted the most in her last life and yet she wasn't able to. Even Jon Snow's child perished when she was brought back. The fact that the Lord of Light could bring her back but not her child could only be because of her cursed womb. She had thought back then that the fire God didn't care for her happiness since he should have the power to bring both back. But maybe… Maybe he could only do so much. Bringing a person back from the dead is already a lot, and yet her body had to be cursed.

She couldn't be sure, but it was irrelevant. All that matters is that she would be able to carry a child again.

She could have Rhaego.

She could have little Rhaego in her arms.

Her hands flew to her face, where tears were flowing freely now. _My little dragon_. She couldn't wait to hold him. To smell him, to hug him, to kiss his little head, hold his small hands and tiny feet. To see him.

...But she would also see his father soon enough.

Daenerys knew well enough her love for Drogo was just her young self grasping at straws, trying not to drown in a sea of pain. She also knew that the only thing Drogo loved about her was her ability to have his son. It didn't matter though. She could also love his ability to give her a son. And his power.

Drogo was destined to die sooner or later, being so proud and refusing to tend to his wounds, but she wouldn't be so hopeless this time. She couldn't, because there would be little Rhaego for her to care for.

Whatever the reason was for the gods to want her baby, she would have him and protect him until he could protect himself. His destiny wasn't something she could meddle in, but she would make sure to raise a strong man capable of handling whatever life threw at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing: Dany is right, but not on the mark. The LoL brought her back because he needs her lineage to continue because she's pure magic. Faaaar away in the future there will be another weird dead enemy for the living to defeat, and her lineage can't be dead. Also, she's his favorite, and he feels a bit sorry that she has to do it all over again, so he gave her an extra ticket to have some company. Side note that he literally regretted bringing Jon back because he murdered his protegee.
> 
> Jon, on the other hand... Look, I'm sorry, I didn't particularly care for him in the books (that honor bullshit aint for me) and the show only made it worse, so here it is: Bran isn't evil, he just overloaded and is REALLY out of touch with everything. He was trying his best, but fucked up big time anyway. Also, Bloodraven didn't die, he is in there with Bran, which is another reason for poor Bran to be so lagged. So it took some time for Bran to process things, like a few years. When Bloodraven went online again he was aghast by the brat's hand in ending his family legacy. He couldn't tolerate it. So he went to the nearest heart tree and and said to the gods that if they didn't fix this, he would personally end the last greenseer and they could handle the next dead rising by themselves. So... The gods brought Jon back to the start. And gave him an extra ticket because it's impossible to change things on his own.


	2. The Old Bear I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks out from behind my sofa* Are they gone?  
> Man, Jon stans are annoying.  
> I still don't think my tags were wrong, merely in the wrong *place*, but even that is debatable. Anyway.
> 
> This is a year and a half later. I wanted to give the dothraki more individuality, but being Jorah's POV it simply wouldn't make sense. He's only briefly reminiscing the past here, and I'm not sure I have the patience to write anything more detailed than this.  
> The rest of the story will be much the same.  
> Oh, um... Language warning? How do dothraki insult people?? 
> 
> Stay safe and clean y'all.

Jorah looked up to the glaring sun while rubbing one sleeve under his chin. A futile attempt of drying some of the sweat that kept running down his face. He had long grown used to the heat of Essos, but the closer they got to the Red Waste, the more it became apparent to him that he hadn't seen all that the continent had to offer. Khal Drogo urged the horde southwards through Lhazar, raiding every city they could find to collect more slaves. It was the dothraki way, but Jorah could not help but think his urgency had something to do with the little khalakka born six moon turns ago. 

It had been over a year and a half now since the marriage of his little queen, and he could scarcely believe how different things had been from what he expected.

The grey mare beside him whinnied softly, and he turned to see Viserys patting her long neck gently. The silver haired man kept his face in the somber expression he had favored in the last few moons. He had been through a great deal in the hands of the Queen, but whatever she had done or said had worked in his favor. Viserys was nothing like the weak and cruel man of before, instead becoming somber and silent, but fiercely protective of his sister and little nephew. He had also integrated quite well with the dothraki, learning their idiom, their fighting style and even donning their garments. He had, however, drawn the line at braiding his hair, preferring to tie it in a low ponytail. 

Even so, besides riding and sparring Viserys didn't do much. He answered when spoken to, but would only take the initiative to open his mouth when it came to his sister and nephew, and always in High Valyrian. 

He also liked to speak with the dragons.

Even after so long, Jorah couldn't help the awe he felt when he saw dragons flying above them. They had grown fast, reaching a little over the size of a horse now. They were also becoming fiercer by the day and would travel longer distances to hunt on their own, all three of them never drifting apart from each other. 

Drogon was the largest of them and seemed more intelligent than the other two, but his Khaleesi had simply said that he was the older brother and had to take care of the other two. He didn't think that was true at all, but she was their mother and seemed to understand them better than anyone. Her love for them was obvious enough for anyone with eyes to see, but her bond with Drogon was something… Special. When the black dragon was the size of a cat, Jorah would often find the little Khaleesi playing with him with a blinding smile, holding him like a babe and folding his wings and tail in all sorts of different shapes. The poor dragon got so angry sometimes that he would screech and try to claw his way away from her, but the Queen never relented and kept cooing at him, greatly amused by his reaction. 

Jorah wasn't the only one who tried to warn the Khaleesi against playing like that, worried that the dragon would turn on her one day. She had merely laughed, saying they were thinking too much. It wasn't until Drogon had burned the hand one of the dothraki had pointed at her into a stump that everyone ceased their worrying. That day had also served as a reminder to anyone who thought of complaining about the women warriors the Queen kept by her side.

Whenever he saw the stump of that man, Jorah felt glad about the merciful nature of his kind little Queen. He still had no idea how she knew about his deal with Varys and he didn't think he would ever find out, but it didn't bother him as he had thought it would.

He remembers vividly about the day the Khaleesi had called him to a walk. They had left Qohor for about a moon turn and everything around them was still green and fresh, the great trees towering over them providing plenty of shade from the scalding sun. The soil was so moist at some points you could smell it in the air. She walked in front of him without a care in the world, gently stroking Drogon's chin while humming a song he didn’t know. The other two dragons flying lazily above them. 

The scenery was so idyllic he was caught entirely off guard by her question, "Do you truly want a pardon?"

He could not remember his answer to that, but he doubted it had made much sense. He did, however, remember her expression. She wasn't even remotely angry and her eyes showed nothing but genuine curiosity when she had turned to face him. He couldn't understand.

"You're not angry?" 

She smiled at that. "Should I be?" Her warm eyes turned to Drogon, still enjoying her scratches while perched on her shoulder, neck lengthening to give her more access, "I don't remember you ever swearing yourself to me."

"I've sworn myself to your brother, and sold information about both of you." He didn't bother trying to hide anything from her. Even if they were alone and her dragons not much bigger than cats, Jorah knew better than to think she was defenseless.

"While that's true, I can hardly blame anyone for holding my brother in contempt." Her eyes turned to him again "You haven't answered my question. Do you truly believe a pardon is what you want?"

It wasn't. "I don't have anywhere to go, Khaleesi. With a pardon I can at least go home again."

Her eyes kept studying him for a moment, measuring his words, "Would it be home, though?"

His jaw clenched. He knew better than to think the North would ever accept him again. He had shamed his house beyond compare, but what was he to do? Roam around Essos until his dying breath? Support Viserys to the throne? Guard Daenerys and live with the dothraki to the end? He didn't want to do any of those. "What would you have me do, Khaleesi?" He nearly growled at her. It wasn't her fault his life was like so, but he couldn't help his anger at her poking his wounds.

She smiled again, kinder than she had any right to. "I don't want the Iron Throne, and I won't let my brother kill himself over it, so I can't promise you a pardon. But I'll say this: I won't live with the dothraki forever. If you wish to, you'll have a place by my side as a friend and advisor." She turned then, starting to walk back to where they had come. "You have until we reach Vaes Dothrak to decide."

Her back was straight and she still walked like nothing in the world could ever bother her. The sunlight shone through the leaves above them on her short silver hair, the single bell ringing softly with every step like the perfect accompaniment to her humming. The little dragons screeching softly above, as if they wanted to join in the melody.

Needless to say, he had decided to stay with her. 

She was different from what he had imagined a girl growing in exile would be. He could never figure out what she was thinking, but he found it didn't matter. Her actions spoke for themselves.

The little queen had won the khal's favor easily enough. The first day on their journey from Pentos she rode her silver mare like she was born atop of it, earning the dothraki respect from the very start. Nonetheless, she was hurt after riding for so long, even if she never complained about it. She had shed her silks in favor of horse leathers, learned their idiom with astonishing speed and had taken to their customs like they were her own since birth. She had also cut her hair short, since according to her being sold by her own brother counted as a defeat for a woman. The braided strand of silver hair would be her new start, and the single bell on it meant her marriage to Khal Drogo was her first victory.

Jorah wasn't too sure if she truly meant all that, but it had made the khal puff his chest with pride. 

The khaleesi was smart. The prouder her khal was, the more power she had in the khalasar. 

She never tried to change the way the dothraki lived, even if she didn't agree with some of it. She would treat her slaves kindly, and most of them would try to serve her better so that she wouldn't find reason to send them away. 

She had started to learn the whip from Jhogo and the bow from Aggo, and soon found other dothraki women that were as fierce as the warriors, but were treated with the same amount of respect the slaves had. Instead of coddling them under her wing, she gave these women the opportunity to compete with the men. It soon became apparent that what they didn't have in strength, they more than made up for in speed, wit, cunning and resolve.

Still, the men were stubborn and refused to afford them any amount of respect. The Khaleesi only smiled and took the women into her khas, not bothering with either any longer. She did, however, order the women to train thrice as hard as before, and they seemed glad to obey.

The little queen had announced her pregnancy soon after they left Qohor, before hatching her dragons with the slavers she had requested from her husband. It was only much later Jorah had realized she had planned so from the start, so he wouldn't have news to sell. After Qohor they wouldn't be able to stop until they reached Vaes Dothrak, and he would have plenty of time to see what kind of person she was before making his decision.

Her thoughtfulness wasn't lost on him.

After he had pledged himself to her in the dothraki city, her first command was for him to find her a reliable messenger. She knew she had a great uncle that was a maester in Castle Black on the Wall and wanted to send him a letter. _How_ exactly she knew, he wasn't sure, but he wouldn't question her. She was his Queen now, and he would obey her wishes.

He thought about sending a letter to his father, but decided against it. He wouldn't know what to write.

When the messenger asked about where he could find her in case he had a reply to bring back, she had told him to wait for her in Astapor, however long it took. 

Again, Jorah couldn't tell what she was thinking, but he had a feeling the horde wouldn't be joining her in the slave city.

They spent over two moon turns in Vaes Dothrak, waiting for the little khalakka to be born and blessed by the Dosh Khaleen. The babe was a strong boy, with his father's hair and his mother's skin and eyes, and if the old crones were to be believed, he would be the stallion who mounts the world. The red comet that crossed the sky on the day of his birth seemed to serve as further proof of the boy’s destiny. His Khaleesi, however, didn't care about any of that. When asked about the comet she had only said it was “a pretty sight” even though her eyes never left the babe. The khal, on the other hand, could hardly wait for his son to grow and gather all the dothraki into one single khalasar, as if the glory would be his own.

Jorah could not be sure if the khal wanted to expand the khalasar to protect his infant son or to bask in some of the khalakka’s future glory. Either way, it was as if the entire khalasar suddenly had fire in their veins, raiding city after city, gathering slaves to inflate their numbers and to trade for riches in the slaver cities. The Khaleesi didn't bother telling any of them what to do, but started to explain to whoever was willing to listen what the meaning of _thash athhajar_ was. 

" _There isn't only one type of strength. There is the brute force of my husband, which is enough to bend the fiercest warriors to his will, and there's also the soft kind of power I have. I can hardly defend myself, yet many are willing to bend to me. They want to. And that is strength. To make people_ want _to obey you without you ever lifting a finger at them."_

She didn't tell them it was merely earning people's respect, as they could figure it out on their own. Still, phrasing it like so was bound to make more people willing to listen to her. It also made some of them more respectful of her. They thought it was a matter of course that the mother of the stallion who mounts the world and the mother of dragons would have the power to make people want to bend to her will.

Before he knew it, her khas was taking form and getting more organized. The women warriors were almost all under her and willing to fight for their khaleesi like they were her bloodriders, but no one in the khalasar seemed to care about it. The khal himself only saw it as more reason to be proud of his wife.

Jorah should not have been surprised about his Khaleesi's reaction when the khal fell from his horse.

" _Disband or die._ "

Khal Drogo’s kos were surrounding his limp body crumpled on the dirt, a mixture of disappointment and contempt in their faces. It instantly turned to fury at their khaleesi ordering them.

_"Keep barking, little bitch, and your khal will die soon enough. You should start packing go to Vaes Dothrak where you belong."_

His Queen didn't bother answering them, instead ordering Haggo to drag his khal to a tent and Qotho to send for a healer. He saw Viseys getting closer to the cart where the little khalakka was, hand in his arakh. Yizi and Dalli, two of the warrior women the Khaleesi favored, also got near the cart to protect the babe. One of the kos also saw their movements and started to stalk his way toward them. Before Jorah could make a move, he saw his Khaleesi grabbing the arm of man in a vise-like grip. Everything seemed to come at a stop then as all the mumbling around them ceased at once.

 _"Where are you going?"_ Her voice was bone chilling and her gaze was steely. He had never heard such a tone from the Queen and had some trouble connecting it to her usual warm self.

The ko wasn't scared of her in the least. He had a bloodthirsty smile on his face while he took a step closer to her body, looking down on her, _"To kill that little whelp of yours, cunt."_

Jorah heard rather than saw hands flying to their arakhs. The air grew thick with tension. His own hand had long been on the hilt of his sword, but he couldn't remove his eyes from his Queen. He saw as her face morphed from chilling cold into her own wicked smile. Her eyes had grown darker and reddish and the killing intent in them was palpable. She slowly tilted her head to the side, the movement resembling a dragon eyeing prey. 

"Dracarys."

Jorah had not heard Drogon approaching, and if the gasps around him were any indication, he wasn't the only one. There was barely a scream before the ko turned to ashes in front of them, together with the leather glove on the queen's hand that had held his arm.

The Khaleesi turned to them, her face impassive. Her eyes were violet and Jorah wondered if he had imagined the change of color. Drogon landed beside her while growling threateningly at the other kos, and his brothers roared up above as if to remind everyone there wasn’t only one of them. " _Who else wants to murder my child?"_ Silence followed. She nodded at that and looked at the other kos, her bloodthirst visible again, " _Disband. Or. Die."_

They didn't need to be told a third time and simply resorted to throwing her nasty looks while turning to gather their khas and pack their own belongings before scattering off. 

The ones left behind still couldn't relax. The khal had fallen from his horse and would most likely die soon. The healer had arrived and was shoved into the Khal's tent while the khaleesi went to see her son in Irri's arms. The babe had slept peacefully through it all without a care in the world, "Sleeping like a pig," she pinched his face softly but let go when he started to fuss, "My little piggy." She beamed at him, while Viserys said something to her in High Valyrian. She nodded and turned to walk to the khal's tent, with Jorah following closely behind her until the entrance.

It did not take long for the queen to come out. Her face was solemn while she gave orders to build a pyre. 

"Is there no way, Khaleesi?"

She eyed him for a moment, "There would have been if he had seeked the healer when he got the wound," she let out a soft sigh, looking at the people running around to build the rest of the tents for the night, "Now he won't last through the night."

He hesitated. "You don't seem… sad." 

She scoffed, "I _am_ sad, but he had it coming, being so stubborn." She put a hand on her waist, looking around, "Where are his bloodriders?"

"I'll find them for you." He made to walk but didn't have to go far, as all three of them came out of a nearby tent, walking up directly to the khaleesi.

" _How is he?"_

_"He won't last the night. Are you going with him to the Nightlands? He fell from his horse, there's nothing to avenge."_

They looked at each other, unsure. Haggo was the first to open his mouth, _"A khal falling from his horse is not worth following."_

The Queen made no comment but simply turned to the other two, her arms folded in front of her, " _You agree?"_

Neither Qotho nor Cohollo said anything, merely nodding their heads.

_"Then grab your things and whoever doesn't want to follow me and be on your way."_

_"You're not going to Vaes Dothrak?"_

_"Do you need me to call Drogon again?"_

They scowled at her but said nothing in return before leaving to pack.

"Spread the word. Anyone who wants to stay with me shall do so out of their own free will. But come tomorrow they must obey me. I will not tolerate defiance."

"Yes, Khaleesi."

Not long after that, more people started packing and going off with Drogo’s former bloodriders. Jorah couldn't help but feel contempt at those three. _So much for being blood of my blood._ Nonetheless, he was surprised by how many had stayed. Most of them were slaves and women, but there were quite a few warriors left. He could not count them properly at the moment, but it should have been over two thousand in total.

It did not take long for the pyre to be built. He saw some men bringing the khal's red horse to the pyre and wondered about the queen. She had taken the babe to the Khal's tent when the night had just fallen, and now the moon hung high in the sky. No one slept, waiting.

It didn't take much longer for her to come out with the little khalakka in her arms. She simply motioned towards the tent with her head, in a silent plea for them to carry the body.

It was a somber night. There was no sound except for the cracking fire. Even the dragons were quietly surrounding their mother, watching the flames slowly die down while the sky grew brighter, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

_"Farewell, my sun and stars."_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not understand how english dialogue punctuation works. 
> 
> Also, Jorah doesn't love Dany in this. I think his type is pretty, young and helpless, and Dany doesn't fit the helpless part anymore. But he still greatly admires her.
> 
> Next is Astapor with... Viserys or Missandei? I can't decide.


	3. The Wounded Dragon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 3 months later and they're so not in Astapor.  
> Btw, I was also 100% fooled into thinking Dany had a plan.

Viserys gazed up at the clouds floating away high above and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. The fresh breeze from the river made him relax his muscles as he felt it playing with little wisps of his hair. The Skahazadhan's soft waves shone as the sun neared the horizon, gradually turning into a warm golden color, the peaceful scenery only disturbed by two dragons frolicking around the margins of the river. 

Rhaellon whined under him, shoving his head against his palm in a clear complaint about the lack of petting. Viserys couldn't help but smile at his antics. The softest of the three, sometimes he looked more like a needy cat than a dragon. 

Viserion.

His smile dimmed. The dragon's former name always made him bittersweet. To a certain extent, he supposed Rhaellon was what he himself was meant to be, had things been different. Gentle, soft even, but fiercely loyal to his family.

The complete opposite of that man.

Rhaellon nudged at him again, whining softly in reprimand.

_"I'm not brooding."_

A scoff.

_"Don't tell your mother, or I won't give you those eels you love so much."_

Rhaellon looked at him thoroughly unimpressed, got up grumbling from his spot and flew down towards his brothers, joining their play fight.

Viserys wasn't entirely sure how, but he knew the dragons could understand them, even if they only listened when it pleased them. He was even less sure about how they could possibly tattle on him to his sister, but she always seemed to know things she wasn't supposed to.

And she hated when he brooded.

He couldn't really blame her, considering how she died the first time. It had been close to half a year since she had told him of her past and he still wanted to cross the Narrow Sea to shoot that wolf cub right through his heart.

He also wanted to shoot his brother's corpse. 

He looked at the green dragon screaming at Drogon for throttling him to the water, smiling again despite himself. Dany obviously shared his anger at their brother, seeing how she had changed his name to Aemaxes.

He laid down on the ground with his hands cushioning his head, looking again at the clouds floating aimlessly above him. Viserys may not believe in gods, yet he would still find himself thanking whatever force had sent his sister back. He doubted giving him a second chance had ever crossed their minds. Even so, he had seized it.

He thought back to the day of her wedding, the first glance he took at her. It wasn’t his meek little sister. He could tell from her posture, her movements, _her eyes._ Something had drastically changed, erasing the one he knew and leaving another in her place. The notion of it had scared him more than it had any right to, so he had pretended everything was as it should have been, disregarding the way her eyes would follow him, studying him. Trailing his movements like a predator stalking its prey. Waiting. 

Somehow, he knew.

He had behaved. Kept himself as far from her as he could have, never lashing out at anything or anyone. Yet he knew it was only a matter of time until he gave in, as his emotions were always unstable at best. He spent days on edge, battling between fear and indignance, numbing himself with wine and lust to keep his thoughts from what was to come. It didn’t take long, as a fortnight later he found himself on his way to his sister.

He couldn’t remember much aside from riding up to her while shouting, cursing and threatening her. Her eyes had flickered with _something_ for a brief second before sharp pain had spread on his side, taking the air from his lungs while the world tilted in front of his eyes. The next thing he knew he was lying on the dirty ground like a stray dog. 

She had kicked him from his horse.

He had been so stunned he couldn't recover for a while, giving her time to get off her mount and step on his back, forcing him to stay on the ground. She had grabbed the top of his hair, forcing his head up and tilting it just enough to make sure he could see her face. 

_"You seem to forget I'm a dragon myself, big brother."_

Her eyes were burning yet cold, filled with rage, pride, hurt, contempt and _something_ he still couldn't name. He kept his mouth shut, trying to ignore his shivering limbs covered with cold sweat, his eyes never leaving hers. A part of him, bigger than he had thought it would be, hoped she would sentence him, ending it all. He was tired. He wanted to go home. And maybe home could only be death, where he would find their family again.

Something must have shown on his expression, seeing as all feelings on his sister's face receded like the tide, leaving only that one he couldn't name behind.

And then he understood.

Pity. 

_"It's fine, Viserys. I'll take care of us from now on. You just focus on getting back up."_

The hand that had grabbed his hair let go and patted his head before he felt her weight lifting off his body. She spoke more words, but they felt muffled and distant to his ears. 

Something crumbled down inside his chest. 

He didn't know what to do. Didn’t know what to feel. Someone would take care of him for the first time in a decade yet it only made him feel restless. And elated. He wouldn’t have to shoulder everything on his own again, but what was he to do with himself then? He knew going back to Westeros was foolish. He had been desperate, grasping at straws and turning his face from the truth since a long time ago. He knew that. But he simply couldn't afford to face it. 

And now he would have to.

Daenerys would take care of them, and he had to get back on his feet. Was that even possible?

He did not know.

Viserys found out, the day after, that his sister had committed herself to helping him even if it made him hate her.

And gods, he had hated her.

She had forbidden him from having bed slaves, from drinking any form of alcoholic beverage, and from having a mount. She also had someone follow him at all times, ordered to "give back whatever he gave". So anytime he lost his temper and hit someone, he would be hit back. When he cursed, he would be cursed back. When he tried to force a slave to his bed, he had been forced to another bed.

Nothing had happened in the end, but it had been enough to scare him out of his skin and never attempt it again.

Viserys wasn't a naturally stubborn man. He had persisted on chasing the Iron Throne through the years out of desperation. He longed for home, and the Red Keep was the only home he knew. But he couldn't persist in being violent when he got a taste of his own actions. 

His anger wouldn’t lift, though. Daenerys had humiliated him beyond compare and he had nowhere to vent his rage. He didn't know if someone had told her of his moods or if she simply knew, but her next order was to have him train with her guards everyday. 

It couldn’t even be considered as training at first. He had felt like a stray dog anyone could kick. Viserys was tall yet his body didn't have much meat, so he could only try to evade their blows but it never lasted for long. They were faster and stronger than him, and seemed to never get tired.

Everyday he would walk, eat, be beaten and sleep as his anger kept building up. He thankfully never saw Daenerys during that time. He didn't think he _could_ hurt her, but wasn't willing to find out if he would attempt to. He kept repeating in his mind that this was her care for him, her way of helping him get back up on his feet, but it was truly hard to see how exactly she planned on doing that when he was clearly being beaten to an early grave.

It wasn't until he had finally landed a punch on Aggo's face and released some of his pent up anger that he started to understand her intentions.

After that day, his daily beating seemed more like actual training. Jorah who always kept on the sidelines watching started to offer some advice and translate what others said to him. When they finally allowed him to use blunt weapons he found out it hadn't even been three moons since the wedding. It had felt like half a year to him.

Before stopping at Qohor Daenerys had found him.

_"How have you been?"_

He had noticed she only spoke to him using High Valyrian. He wasn't sure why, but he found some comfort in it. When he thought about her question, Viserys realized it had been years since he felt so clear headed. His days were still the same, mainly walking, eating, training and sleeping, but he had grown somewhat attached to this routine. He still hadn't dared to think too much about the past, and would instead distract himself by observing other people in the khalasar when idle. He had realized some truths by doing this, but still avoided thinking too much about them. 

_"Bruised."_

For the first time since she had changed, his sister smiled at him. It was small, and it had some relief in it, but it was genuine. He wondered how long it had been since she had truly smiled at him.

 _"Bruised is good. It means you're getting stronger,"_ she hesitated then, seeming unsure whether to say her next words. He could see her eyes searching for something in his. Whatever it was, she must have found at least some of it, as her expression grew determined, her voice firm but warm, _"Rhaego will need his uncle to be strong, so you can protect him."_

Viserys could feel his eyes bulging out. Was she already...? It had been so little time. His little sister would have a child with the horselord. Because he sold her. He did this to her. 

_"Viserys,"_ he looked at her again, _"His name is Rhaego Targaryen. He is your nephew, and it is your job to protect him."_ Her voice was like steel, all warmth gone from it. He swallowed and nodded. It was an order and he knew she wouldn't tolerate anything but acquiescence. It was her child. A new member of their family, even if the father was a horselord. He knew the dothraki weren't the savages he had believed them to be, even if he couldn't accept their way of living. Still, he would need some time to adjust. He wondered if he would ever feel like he didn't have to adapt to circumstances again.

 _"Rhaego?"_ He found himself asking despite his misgivings, _"For Rhaegar?"_

She actually scoffed at that and he wondered yet again what exactly had happened to her. Her expression grew warm, _"For our mother. And Drogo."_ His face must have shown some incredulity at her choice of honouring her husband, for she explained, _"Drogo is a dothraki warrior. Has been his whole life. He doesn't know anything else. Despite everything, he respects me in his own way and even spoils me. The dothraki aren't mere savages, Viserys."_

He knew that. Even so, they seemed to enjoy pretending to be. Regardless, he felt more at ease knowing she wasn't being abused by her husband. He supposed that was a happy combination of her changes and the fact that Drogo wasn't a beast disguised in men’s clothing like some of the dothraki seemed to be.

He promised her he would train harder to protect his nephew, and she gave him another small, genuine smile while asking him to focus on himself for now.

He knew what she meant, but he simply wasn't ready for that yet. So he kept to his routine and got progressively better at defending himself. He felt his muscles growing sturdier, his reflexes quicker, his hands and feet growing more calloused. He didn't miss the numbing feeling wine gave him as much as before. He also didn't feel so much the need to have a woman under him as proof of his virility. He slowly grew more assured of himself and less afraid of his shortcomings.

And then Daenerys brought dragons back to life.

He couldn't believe her nonchalant attitude when tying the slavers to a pyre. If he ever had any doubt that she wasn't his little sister anymore, it had turned to nothing along with their screams. She had said to him, after they hatched, that she hadn't been sure if simply burning them would work, but was glad that it did because she couldn't risk her son. It wasn't until much later that he understood exactly what she meant by that, and he was also glad that those three men were enough.

Whenever he saw the cat sized dragons, he didn't know what to think. They were beautiful and colored like their eggs. One black and red, another green and bronze, and the - in his opinion - most beautiful one, cream and gold. They all had very distinct personalities as well: one grumpy, another mischievous and the last one gentle. Daenerys named all of them and he had felt a little disheartened at her neglecting to ask for his opinion, but he truly liked the name she gave to the golden one. Rhaellon. He felt it was fitting, given their gentle nature. He also liked how the golden little dragon would now always remind him of his mother. He hadn't thought much about her ever since they left Braavos, feeling like he had to be a man to protect his little sister, and grown men wouldn't think about their dead mothers all the time. The day he lost her crown… 

No.

Not yet.

He knew he would have to face _that_ someday, but he wasn't looking forward to it. There were many things he had to work through before he touched any of that. He would take his time. However long that was.

At any rate, he felt odd.

There were dragons in the world yet again, his sister was with child, and he was starting to feel at ease with the dothraki. 

He wasn't sure what to make from all of that. A part of him, bigger than he cared to admit, felt some hope at regaining their throne. But his sister had never mentioned Westeros, and he felt somewhat afraid of bringing it up with her. Regardless of how she felt about the Iron Throne, nothing would happen for now, so he focused on his routine, with the addition of _gaping at the dragons_ between walking and eating.

He soon shed his silks in favor of horse leather, and wished he had done it sooner as they were much more practical for a nomad life. It also didn't take long before he could understand most of what they spoke, although his own pronunciation was lacking. By the sixth moon turn since they had departed from Pentos, he had finally managed to best Rakharo. It was mostly luck combined with quick reflexes, but it was enough to earn him a mount. He hadn't realized until then how different he would be treated simply by virtue of having one. When walking the dothraki barely paid him any attention, as if he was one of the flies to be whisked away by their horse's tails. As soon as he mounted, however, they all acknowledged him with respect, and some of them were even _friendly_ , jokingly mocking him for taking so long.

He had never been respected before.

Not truly.

 _Something_ bubbled up inside his chest. He adjusted himself on his saddle, fixing his expression to conceal his emotions. He didn't want to risk offending people since he couldn't speak properly, so he only nodded at those who greeted him. He saw Ser Jorah coming towards him along with his sister, with an approving smile on his face and he found himself sitting up straighter. Daenerys was _beaming_ at him, her eyes shining with _something_ he still couldn't name.

_"Looking proud, big brother."_

He understood then. It was pride. Viserys felt proud of himself for the first time in his life. For something he had done on his own, achieved on his own. He felt his vision turning blurry and coughed to disguise his tears. It wouldn't do to cry in front of these people after he finally managed to earn their respect. Fortunately only his sister and Ser Jorah were paying attention to him, and both pretended they hadn't seen anything.

After that, his routine changed to riding, playing with dragons, eating, sparring and sleeping. The dragons grew fast and before arriving at Vaes Dothrak they had already reached the size of dogs. The bond between Drogon and his sister always awed him. The black dragon had behaved much the same as the other two after he was born. They would screech and play all day long, only stopping to eat. A few days later, however, he had become much calmer, and his sister in turn started to torment him. He often heard her explaining to the dragon that she had to enjoy herself while she could, as he would soon grow too big for her to hold him. He supposed that was true, but it still wasn't reason for her to bend the poor dragon in so many shapes. 

That much was still somehow reasonable and within logic, but about three moons later, they had become much more attuned to each other. Viserys didn't know how to describe it, but he felt like they always knew what the other was thinking or feeling. Daenerys didn't talk to Drogon as much as before, as if words weren't needed anymore between them. When he asked, she had simply said they were bonded for life, refusing to elaborate.

After so much time, he had grown close enough to his sister to know she would only do what she wanted to do, and nothing or no one could bend her to their will. She was the one who made others bend to hers. Viserys wasn't surprised to find himself happy to follow her. He had always known he was too soft, too weak to lead other people, he had simply never been able to bear it.

And so he had tried to become stronger in the worst way possible. By emulating his father.

He honestly couldn't remember much about his days in King's Landing. He did, however, remember how people were terrified of their King. Himself included. He remembered the sickening smell of burnt flesh and his father's chilling laughter. He remembered his mother's sad but kind face, and her soft, warm hands. He couldn't remember Rhaegar at all, but could still clearly picture Elia's face. He remembered the soft fur of Rhaeny's cat and the look of a babe with a wisp of white hair on his goodsister's arms. Anything aside from those sparse memories was foggy at best.

Nonetheless, people feared his father but still obeyed his orders. Viserys had assumed long ago that kings had to rule with fear, otherwise their subjects would turn on them. He wondered if that was what he thought or what he was taught. He couldn't remember. 

He had been reluctant at first, since cruelty didn't come easily to him. But just because he wasn't willing didn't mean others would have the same qualms, and he soon learned just how ugly people's hearts could be. Their years of running and hiding took their toll on him, and his resistance to his father's methods became weaker with time. 

Until Lys.

He wondered if he would ever be able to deal with what happened then. He wanted to tell his sister, to explain some of his actions to her. He knew he owed it to her, considering her past, but he simply wasn't ready yet. He was afraid of reliving it and turning into that man again. He couldn't risk losing everything he had accomplished.

After they had arrived in Vaes Dothrak his beloved routine was taken from him, and he had felt lost, not knowing what to do with himself. Daenerys did not give orders this time, letting him free to do as he wanted, and he felt afraid. He knew she was testing him again. Her eyes would follow him silently, studying his moves and _waiting._

It felt like they were back at the beginning again.

That gave him some clues. He knew there were things he couldn't do. Like forcing women to his bed, drinking, cursing and beating people. He was pleasantly surprised to find out he did not have the slightest inclination to do any of those again. It felt freeing, somehow.

At the start he roamed aimlessly around the dothraki city during the day and kept sparring with his sister's guards in the evenings. They went back to hand to hand combat as blades weren't allowed in the city, but sparring was sparring and he still had a long way to go if he was to be any good at it. It didn't take long until he had seen all their Capitol had to offer. 

It wasn't until he saw Aggo practicing the bow and arrow that he found something to do during the day. He had asked the man to teach him but the dothraki refused, claiming to lack the patience to teach a milk man, so Viserys tried to do it on his own. 

It didn't go as smoothly as he had hoped, but he felt strangely stubborn about learning how to shoot. He knew Aggo was the best at it out of the three guards, so for the first time Viserys used his position as brother of their khaleesi to ask for something. 

Surprise, doubt, concern and delight were mixed comically in his sister’s face. She gave the order in that very instant and Aggo's scowl almost made him regret going behind his back. Daenerys saw the situation between them but made no comment. He had noted she wouldn’t interfere with his affairs anymore than necessary and he appreciated the space she gave him.

Then it was shooting, spending time with his sister and the dragons, eating, sparring and sleeping. 

Viserys realized, eventually, how he had longed for stability. He had never been truly attached to his home in King's Landing as he wasn't particularly happy back then, even if he dearly missed his family. He had fooled himself into thinking he would be safe back in Westeros, but how could he when their people had murdered his whole family? His wish to go back had slowly dwindled until it was barely there anymore.

When he saw the violet eyes of his nephew, it was finally gone.

A sturdy little body, with white skin and dark hair. His eyes were huge and alert, reminding him of Dany’s when she was small. The tiny fists would grab at anything placed in front of him with a grip so forceful Viserys had trouble letting go of him. Such a strong boy. The loving look his sister gave them when he held Rhaego was enough to dissipate any notions he might have had of going back to Westeros.

He could never risk their safety for a land of ungrateful, backstabbing people.

After leaving the dothraki city, he had some trouble adjusting to a nomad life again. He wanted to be near his nephew, to make sure he was safe, but also wanted to practice his archery, watch the dragons and get better with the arakh. His sister laughed heartily at his dilemma, calling him silly.

She never stopped using High Valyrian when speaking to him, and he finally understood it as her attempt to make him always feel included in her life. Such care had touched him, but he never mentioned it. His sister didn't put much importance in words and would value actions above all else. It made sense, considering all she had been through, and he could only try harder to do better. 

Dany had solved his dilemma for him, calling him over to her so they would practice archery together from atop their mounts during the day. He had given a sidelong glance at her teacher, Aggo, who seemed to truly dislike him as he had never told Viserys about teaching his sister. The dothraki had obeyed his khaleesi and taught him the bow, but made sure the whole khalasar knew how unwilling he was, always looking at him with a cold face and never saying a word more than strictly necessary. Even when he had shown a natural talent for archery Aggo still scorned him. Viserys didn't know why the man was so antagonic to him, but it couldn’t have been because of anything significant. If it were, Aggo would never hesitate to throttle him with his horse. 

Riding and shooting, always near Rhaego, admiring the dragons from afar as they grew fiercer and wilder, eating, sparring and sleeping. It took two moons of such days until Dany had decided to tell him about her past. It had taken a whole night and he knew she couldn't possibly have told him everything, but merely the most important points.

He surprised himself by the rage he felt on her behalf. It had certainly overcome any other feelings he might have had, and he had spent days feeling indignant about her treatment in the west. Part of him wanted vengeance, to wait until the dragons grew enough to set Westeros on fire. Another part was glad she had beensent back so she would never have to take half a step again towards their wretched land ever again. He had some trouble believing about the tales of dead men, but figured she didn't have any reason to lie about that. Regardless, he hoped the dead man would show up sooner and turn all of Westeros into a fucking graveyard.

The one he hated the most was undoubtedly their supposed nephew. His sister had loved that wretched man and gave him everything in return for a dagger in her heart. Bastard or not, he shared their blood. He had no right to end his sister's life. _Fucking kinslayer_.

_Fucking Rhaegar._

What was his brother thinking? Abandoning his wife and family for that she-wolf of the Starks. His father might have been mad, but it was Rhaegar's duty as crown prince to set the king aside and bring peace to the realm. Instead he had abandoned them all to the king's madness and the people's rage.

He could not, and would not forgive him in this life.

It had never occurred to him to doubt her words. He had accompanied and raised her since she was a little babe and they had never parted from each other. He might have resented her, hated her even, but she was his family, the only one he had left. 

He could understand the desperation of that man in her past. He had probably thought he had lost her as she made her own family apart from him, leaving him behind completely alone. His already unstable mind reached its limit, throwing all caution to the wind in a last attempt at finding some form of safety.

Or maybe he found some comfort in seeing his sister safe, and was ready to end it all.

He could not be sure, but it wasn't important. He wasn't that man anymore and found some solace in pretending the man was dead and buried. He understood then why his sister had been so wary of him, especially in Vaes Dothrak. Why she would talk to him and even be playful, but never got close enough to touch. He couldn't blame her, even if he felt a little saddened by her lack of trust. 

He would simply have to prove himself worthy of her efforts.

Her story was too much for him, and he had needed time to process all of it. He was afraid of hurting Rhaego, but couldn't bear to be too far from him. The days following that night were spent riding in silence not too far from his sister or the cart that would carry the babe. But he kept sparring in the evenings, hoping it would help ease some of his pent up feelings.

About three moons after that, Drogo died.

He had thought things would change drastically after his death, as Dany had mentioned she planned on going to Astapor to find Missandei and Grey Worm again. And yet, they were now stuck between Hesh and the Skahazadhan waiting for _something_ his sister didn't know what it was, but knew it was coming.

He didn't even bother asking.

He found a new routine for himself, similar to what he had in Vaes Dothrak. Shooting, watching dragons, watching Rhaego torture Dany’s handmaidens, eating, sparring… 

He had done a lot of observing during the last three moons before Drogo's death. He hadn't realized until then how his sister had changed the world views of some of the dothraki, especially the women. It was subtle yet undeniable. The people closer to her didn't resort to brutality to get the things they wanted, they would instead try all sorts of different means to make other people willing to give in to them. Whenever they succeeded they behaved like peacocks parading around whatever they had obtained. Some would even talk down to others pointing out how they could only get women or riches through savagery, which was something anyone with a weapon could do.

They had a point, but Viserys would always find it funny to see dothraki accusing each other of being savages.

The women around his sister were the biggest difference. They worshipped her. He didn't know what Dany had done to make them respect her so much, but he was sure they would be willing to lay down their lives for her. 

If there was one aspect of the dothraki that Viserys simply couldn't wrap his mind around, was about how they handled their women. They were treated like slaves, yet they bore the warriors children. There was no marriage aside from the khal's, or at least none he had seen, and the men would take whatever woman crossed their paths to mate, so he often wondered how anyone was able to tell who was the father of which child. He also didn't know why the warrior women weren't given the slightest hint of respect, even if they were able to ride, shoot and kill as well as any man. He could understand if they were in a society like in Westeros, but the dothraki respected strength above all.

Maybe his sister saw the same inconsistencies he did, and had given these women more than what they were used to. That wasn’t hard, but it didn't seem enough to buy blind loyalty.

He knew the khalasar would break apart sooner or later and had surmised Dany had been trying to separate the people that would follow her onward. It was hard to imagine ending slavery with a dothraki horde. He also found it hard to believe she had united them simply by mounting Drogon, but she hadn't spoken much about it. 

The day after Drogo's death, she had named Rakharo, Jhogo and Aggo as her bloodriders and given them the arakh, whip and dragonbone bow that were her wedding's gifts. He had thought they would refuse as women couldn't have bloodriders, but all three of them knelt at once, calling her blood of my blood.

After that, she told the khalasar her rules: no raping, no plundering and no slaving.

Was it even a khalasar anymore?

After a few days of settling by the Skahazadhan shores, he started to guess his sister's intentions. Some of the dothraki didn't agree with their khaleesi's rules and started to probe on her bottom line. There were fights breaking out amongst them about the ownership of anything inconsequential, they would beat the freedmen and force the women to please them. They never truly broke her rules and Dany didn't seem to mind them. When one of the able freedmen complained to her about a broken arm, she merely said they shouldn't expect her to fix their problems for them. If they couldn't fight for themselves despite having a larger number, then there was nothing she could ever do to save them.

Those words spread like wildfire through the horde.

When the first warrior was beaten beyond recognition by a group of almost twenty freedmen, without repercussion from their khaleesi, the whole khalasar seemed to reach an implicit understanding. 

He later found Ser Jorah asking his sister how she could be sure doing such a thing would work when it could have so easily gotten out of control.

"You can't be sure of anything when dealing with people. If it had gotten out of control I only had to banish the troublemakers from the khalasar."

Her expression told him she was actually frustrated it had worked so well. He estimated almost three thousand restless dothraki was a little too much to stuff in a city like Astapor. It was actually amusing seeing his sister struggle with trying to diminish her forces.

Not long after that particular episode, there was another commotion. Dany's khalasar had two women for every man, and only a third of the males were warriors. The women couldn't be considered warriors because of their traditions and his sister didn't want to push them too hard with all the changes, so she had proposed to the women for them to become _azchiori,_ or _blade-wives_. They were essentially fighters, but more organized. 

Needless to say the majority of them greatly supported their khaleesi's idea, while the men rebuked it, insisting that women had no place fighting amongst them.

Dany, to no one's surprise, didn't say much. She simply arranged a mock fight between both groups and gave them three days to organize themselves.

He was surprised by the result, as they had fought to a tie. The women were good at strategizing and making use of their strengths and weaknesses, but the men had more experience. There was a begrudging respect forming between both parties and he found himself speechless by this outcome. His sister wasn't interested in their antics and only made them all mock fight regularly.

It had been three moon turns since they settled and the people seemed at ease. However, Viserys felt restless. He believed his sister when she said something would happen, and he could feel it brewing beneath the surface. Maybe it was the opportunity she was waiting to send people away.

He sat up and looked at the dragons one last time before starting his way back to the main tent. He never wandered too far from Rhaego, even if the babe had protection at all times. The sun was almost set, marking the time for supper. Viserys loved seeing the mess the little imp made with every meal and the helpless looks of Dany's handmaidens. He was willing to bet the babe took delight in their plight yet would never dare to do the same with his mother. He wondered what Dany had done to make his nephew always behave like an angel in her presence.

He saw a group of people standing in front of the khaleesi's tent, speaking over each other in angry tones. He felt a cold run down his spine while rushing over to his sister's side. She turned to him and saw the question in his eyes before he ever spoke it, and murmured in an appeasing tone, _"Rhaego is fine, nothing happened to him."_

He felt his muscles relaxing then. That's good. Apart from his family he didn't care much about other matters, but the commotion made him curious. His sister smirked at him, _"It happened."_

His eyebrow shot up at her remark. Did that mean it wasn't serious or she would finally get her way? He saw a crowd of young girls being brought to them and thrown to the ground mercilessly. Most of them were crying, a few sobbing so hard he wondered if they could even breathe. But there was a little group among them that didn't shed a single tear. Two looked remorseless and three looked as if they would spit venom. _What in seven hells happened?_

_"Khaleesi, these are the ones we could find from the bunch that killed that lamb man."_

_"I see. How was he killed?"_

The man hesitated as the color of his face changed. He threw a disgusted look at the three venom-spitting girls as he spat, _"He had sheep shears shoved up his ass."_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show, don't tell? Beware of the use of 'was'? I don't know how do those things. But I *think* I got the hang of the punctuation issue. If anyone is ever interested in beta-ing this, I might kowtow to you.  
> I don't know if my version of Viserys is convincing. Imo it's not that far fetched. He's weak, so its not a strech to perceive him as soft. I want him to be like Rhaella and Rhaellon, gentle but strong, as he was meant to be.  
> The crown thing happened in Lys and he'll tell us eventually what exactly went on there.  
> Also he doesn't know yet about Aemon or Aegon since Dany can't be sure she'll be able to hear from/see them again and doesn't want Viserys to be hurt by losing more family.
> 
> Next is Dany. And she did NOT see that coming.


	4. The Dragoness II

Daenerys had a plan.

Sort of.

She would go to Astapor and rule for however long it took to make the city stable and prosperous without slavery. She did not plan on killing all the slavers this time even if it would certainly make things much more difficult, but she needed Astapor to serve as an example of what she could offer. Failing her first conquest while leaving nothing but ruin behind her would definitely not do her any favor in winning allies.

Dealing with that would be enough to take most of her time, so she couldn't afford to have unruly dothraki wrecking havoc under her. Although she had hatched dragons, this time there was no espectacle to make them worship her, making it easier for them to disregard her rules. She  _ could _ set up a pyre and walk through it unscathed to force them to kneel, but she saw no point in doing so. People should respect her for who she was, and not for her magic. 

Her plan had been to wait until they got tired of her ways and started to make trouble so she could exile them and move on. It was crude, but supposedly efficient. However, although they had tested her limits, they never broke her rules. It even had the odd side effect of making the khalasar understand the power of numbers. While Daenerys would always protect the weak, she wanted them to see how they had the strength to protect themselves without needing her to interfere. 

So this outcome really shouldn't have surprised her.

Yet it did.

There were now twenty three girls kneeling in front of her because they killed a man to defend themselves. Or so they said.

The truth of the matter was that they had tied up a man who had repeatedly raped them and proceeded to use sharpened sheep shears to give said man a taste of his own medicine. 

Should she be glad or regretful for never telling them they shouldn't kill each other?

Most of the girls were completely sickened by what they had seen, and it had been one of them who confessed and named all the others when the body was found. From what Dany understood, they simply wanted the man dead so he would stop coming after them. 

And yet, those five… 

She honestly did not know which was worse. Complete indifference or pure hatred? Should she punish them or appease them?

_ "While I did say you should not expect me to save you all the time, I explicitly forbade rape. It was my place to punish such a man. Why not come to me?" _

Most of them seemed dumbstruck by her question. As if it never occurred to them to complain to her about such a thing. Was it because they were used to it or because she did not inspire confidence? Had they truly put no weight in her words?

One of the indifferent ones looked at her with a complex expression. Dany could see her breathing become slightly labored, muscles tensing up. Her thin lips pressed together as she swallowed, while her pupils shrinkled slowly. All those signs so subtle she would never have been able to see them before, yet now they were glaring.  


The girl opened her mouth as she tried to make her voice as even as she could,  _ "Would Khaleesi really take down that lamb man? We've been sitting beside Hesh for three moons now, everyone knows you tried to make them talk to you." _

Yes, she had. Yet she failed to see how these two things could interfere with each other.  _ "I freed all of you. Everyone in this khalasar is free to leave if they wish to. But choosing to stay means you are my people and must obey my rules. The lamb man might have come from Lhazar, but he belonged to my khalasar the moment he decided to stay. If you had told me, I would have exiled him. And if he ever came back, I would have cut his head off." _

She had made her punishments very clear since the start. Death for slaving, exile for raping and stealing with death upon returning. She even went as far as to use beheading so they would think thrice before crossing her, but it seemed as if she was too soft? 

She looked around her. The commotion had attracted a crowd of people all itching to see blood. They weren't savages but they were too used to bloodshed over nothing. It wouldn't do. She couldn't turn them into peaceful people nor did she want to, but she had to crush the normalcy of them stupidly killing each other for fun.

_ "Come morning, you are all forbidden from killing each other over nothing. We are small in numbers and shall take no slaves going forward, I don't believe I must spell out what is bound to happen should this absurdity continue."  _ Some of them shifted uncomfortably in their places, while others were clearly relieved,  _ "the punishment for killing, when not done in self defense, will be exile."  _

She knew life in the horde was hard and it would take them time before they let go of their customs. It didn't sit right with her killing them for doing things the way they were raised to. Their culture wasn't vile, it was harsh. While she didn't agree with their brutal methods to boast their fierceness, she appreciated their regard for strength, for it had helped her to grasp the reins of her own destiny in her first life, even if it had ultimately led to failure. Still, if they chose to follow her, they had to do so thoroughly. 

_ "You are strong people. All of you. Even the feeble ones. Otherwise you would not have lived until now. You either have the power or the numbers to defend yourselves. Do not forget that. But I made rules, and I'll have them respected. If anyone breaks them and harms you, it is your place to come to me so I can give you justice. If you don't, I have no way of protecting you."  _

After a few moments of silence, a couple of women had stepped towards her with a resolute look on their faces. They were most likely raped as well and had not thought she would follow through with her words. Along with them, three men simply parted from the crowd and left without saying a word. She noted two of them were freedmen. A youth whose beard had not even grown yet came forward. _Moqho_. He tried to look stone faced yet failed terribly as his voice infused with distress urged her, _"must it be exile, Khaleesi?"_

She swallowed, willing her body to not betray her thoughts. She also felt distressed, wishing she could forgive those who regretted their actions, but if she went back on her words now, she might as well never speak again. 

She had warned them, and they chose to go against her. 

She is not killing them _. _

_ "Yes." _

Moqho's eyes never strayed from her own from the moment he had stepped up. His regret was palpable, and she allowed her own regret to show in hers. He sighed softly and nodded before turning and walking away.

There was no need for more words. More women stepped forward and another four men parted from the crowd. She had no doubt more would leave on their own before tomorrow.

Her plan had succeeded, after all, yet she felt no joy in it.

And there were still these girls kneeling on the ground.

She would send the sobbing ones to work with the healers. It could be considered as a punishment as the dothraki held them in contempt. For the other five…

_"Lock them up in small groups. Do not let them talk with each other,"_ her narrowing eyes roamed over the ones in the corner. Their indifference and spite had turned into fear and apprehension. _Good_. She could work with that. _"Sleep on your deeds tonight. I'll tell you your punishment tomorrow."_

_ x _

Daenerys walked into her tent and immediately searched for her baby son. The little rascal was standing while holding onto her old bear’s knees, attempting to steal the knight’s sword from him while ranting in an idiom only he could understand. Shaking her head with the fondest of smiles on her face, he called for him,  _ “where’s my little dragon?”  _

Rhaego turned his head to her at once, shouting a delighted squeal while shooting both arms up so she would pick him up. He did not have much strength in his tiny legs yet, as he fell down on his butt the moment he let go of Jorah’s knee, but instead of crying, he laughed amused at the knight’s panicked moves to raise him up again. He kept his big violet eyes on her the whole time, still holding his arms up. She quickly walked up to them, holding her babe up high before settling him on her arms and giving him a thousand kisses on his chubby cheeks. No matter what happened, seeing and smelling her son always made all her troubles disappear into thin air.

She sat down with him, listening attentively as he babbled away what must have been tales of his attempt to take the sword, if all the gesturing at Jorah was any indication. Soon the others filled her tent, sitting on whatever empty space they found. Only Viserys, Rakharo and Aggo were missing, probably sparring somewhere. The rest most likely wanted to ask her what was to be done about that group.

_ “No need to bother asking, I have no idea about what to do with them.” _

Dalli did not see what was the point of thinking about it,  _ “they broke the rules, khaleesi, just send them away.”  _

Rhakka sniggered at her, looking at young Dalli as if she had no brains,  _ “they broke nothing, you halfwit. Shoving a blade up a man’s ass is not raping them.”  _

Daenerys felt a headache forming. These two were always at each other’s throat. She had three bloodriders and later had chosen three blade-wives so as to have more people protecting her and Rhaego at all times. It had also been a way to validate the women who had taken up arms and encourage them to do as they wanted from now on. Dalli was the youngest of the three, being only eighteen, but she was all muscles and tenacity. She was the kind who would never use words if she could solve a problem with her fists, and she was easily the most loyal of them, no doubt due to the rashness common of her age. She wasn’t stupid, but she always fell for Rhakka’s goading.

True to her thoughts, Dalli said nothing, but stood up with a scowl on her face ready to start on Rhakka, who was clearly enjoying the youngest’s reaction. Jhogo held her by the arm before she got too far,  _ “when will you stop falling for her taunts? Sit down already.”  _ He could not - or rather, did not - conceal the laughter in his voice, which only seemed to further inflame Dalli’s temper.

_ “Enough,”  _ Yizi scolded them with a huff,  _ “it’s always you two provoking her. One day she’ll cut out your bowels and no one will care.”  _ She turned to Dalli,  _ “Khaleesi can’t send them away. She had not forbidden killing when they did it,”  _ her tone was even and ever patient, yet when she eyed Rhakka it had some caution,  _ “and rape or not, it depends on who you ask. They sure wanted to, but they didn't have a cock.” _

Darling Yizi, always the voice of reason. She was six and twenty, four years younger than Rhakka, and although the dothraki did not have the habit of respecting those older than them, Yizi often made a point to never get on Rhakka’s bad side. It couldn’t be considered as fear, as the oldest of them was essentially harmless, but she had a very nasty habit of finding pleasure in riling people up and sowing discord, as if there was no better entertainment. Her caution proved to work, though, as Rhakka seemed to find great amusement in Yizi’s wariness and never provoked her.

Although she probably wouldn’t dare to provoke her either way. Yizi, despite having endless patience and a truly good temper, was the only one of them that simply could not be angered. The last one who did so ended up with a broken neck from a slap, if rumors were to be believed.

Dany nodded at her while trying to get one of her braids away from Rhaego’s hands before he put it in his mouth,  _ “Yizi is right. Besides, most of them only watched. I plan on having the sobbing ones sent to help the healers. I need to speak with those five first, before deciding on anything.”  _ She sat Rhaego on her knees as Irri distracted him with a colorful feather _ , “But I won't consider it rape. It was sadistic vengeance. I can't exile them for that." _

She saw Jhogo standing with crossed arms from the corner of her eyes, one finger tapping his arm. A beat later, he asked,  _ "Want me to bring them now? You have until tomorrow to decide." _

She thought about it. Maybe only one day was too rushed, but she didn't want to prolong it. There was no crime. She might not like their method and it was never their place to punish him, but their khaleesi was the one who said they should defend themselves. They were only girls, the oldest only fifteen.

_ "Get me those five." _

_ x _

In the end, her heart had softened.  _ Had it ever hardened? _

Looking closely at them was enough for her to see they were angry, but also regretful. Whether it was regret at not reaching for her from the start or at being caught, only they knew. They were young, and she couldn't deny her a second chance when she had had three herself.

She had sent all of them to work with the healers and had Yizi keep an eye on them from now on. She hoped it was the right decision.

Dany wondered if it was all right for her to still be so lenient after everything she had been through.

But she had to.

Although her second life was spent freeing slaves, she couldn’t be said to have no regrets. At the time of her second death she was simply anxious to be done and did not want to think too hard about the last thirty years that had led to that moment. And yet she was brought back again. It had been almost two years now and she had had plenty of time to think about her past. 

She felt torn.

One the one hand, she had done what she could, considering her situation. 

Her cause was something she had clung to as if letting go would make her truly mad. It probably would. Everytime she felt like she could be herself again, something would happen and bring her back to the start. The revolt of Meereen and death of Daario, the Unsullied’s death on Naath, the destruction of Vaes Dothrak, the death of another hidden nephew not even a year after she found him, news of wars and carnage in Westeros… Sometimes she wondered if she was, afterall, mad. Else, how could she have survived so many tragedies?

Hence, in the face of so many atrocities, she had to commit herself to end slavery. She could not die until she did so. She could not bear to think that her being born only brought destruction to the world. So she had fought, and schemed, and warred.

Her purge of the masters had been frightening, even if it proved to be useful at first. She had done most of the hard work herself, always arriving on a dragon and setting people free. Sometimes the slaves would free themselves, other times they simply hoped for a savior. In the end she had set up councils of free men in all of the Free Cities. Yet, the nature of men proved over and over again to be that of crushing those underneath them if they were given the opportunity to. There was peace, but her presence with Drogon was necessary to keep them in line.

So, on the other hand, she thought she could have done better.

She did not regret the bloodshed, for it was the only way to get rid of such system. Slavery was profoundly ingrained in the customs and economy of Essos and the rich would never willingly give up on their profitable businessess. Not without a fight. But that did not mean others would not rise to their places if they were taken down.

She did not regret it, but the changes had to be  _ permanent.  _ They couldn’t depend on her holding everything together with an iron fist.

And she honestly could not guarantee they would last.

_ This is my last chance _ . 

She would try to do better. It would probably not be over in her lifetime - however long that would be - but she had to set a solid foundation for people to rely on. She would offer what she could, but change would only be everlasting if people brought it on by themselves, and she refused to put such a heavy burden on her son. He would be free, like everyone else.

It had to be different this time. She had family to protect.

She could not let people trample over her, use her and discard her. But she could not forgo her mercy, her compassion, her kindness. 

She could not abandon people when they reached out to her. Yet she could not sacrifice herself fighting wars that weren’t hers.

She had to balance her ruthlessness and her benevolence.

And, most of all, she had to keep in mind she was only a woman. Not a god, not a savior, just someone who wanted change and had the power to bring it.

x

Things did not change much after that. She had planned on staying for another moon before setting off to Astapor, to give her people more time to choose whether they wanted to stay or go. 

Not many left. 

There were no more cases of rape, either. They should number around a little over 2,700 people now, still two women for every man. Most able freedmen had taken up arms alongside the women, and they would train everyday, coming up with mock battles every four, six days. In one of those, she had seen Drogon aid them by scorching up a hill and blocking the passage for the men, helping the women gain the upper hand to crush them. They were  _ thrilled _ .

She couldn't mount Drogon yet, but she had made a point since then to have all three dragons join them in their battles. It was much easier to control Rhaellon and Aemaxes with her black son around.

Bringing Drogon back was undoubtedly the best decision she had made in this life.

Their bond had grown much stronger in her last one, when they only had each other. She knew when her time was coming to an end, and she had not wanted to be in a bed apart from her child. She had gotten atop of him, and they had flown far away from everything. She didn't know where exactly he had taken her, but it was a field filled with green grass and red flowers. Thinking about leaving him behind still broke her heart, even if she had since learned he had also died not long after her.

She wondered if someone had ever found their bones.

At first, she had not really intended to bring anyone back. Even Drogon's life was filled with the pain of losing his brothers and mother. But when they hatched, she remembered how their temper would only grow worse as they aged and how she would be unable to control them. Locking them up again was absolutely not an option, so she had turned to Drogon.

Tiny, clueless Drogon.

She had hesitated at first. But no matter how innocent he seemed, she knew it wouldn't last. So she had held him in her arms, grabbing his little head between her thumb and forefinger while guiding it to rest against her forehead.

It hadn't taken long for the naive look on his eyes to dissipate. He had been confused for a couple of days, but after that his whole demeanor had changed. It was her oldest son again.

To see him looking so somber with that tiny body made her hands itch. She could never resist harassing him, and he would always indulge her, pretending to get angry while secretly loving the attention. 

Until the day he bit her.

It wasn't just a bite, he had nearly ripped her finger off and wouldn't let her pull it from his mouth. Despite her shock, she knew Drogon would never harm her, so she let him do as he pleased long enough to see him swallowing. It took her a moment to understand he was drinking her blood. Before she could do anything, however, he had let her go and turned to bite off the side of his own tail, before shoving it in her direction in an obvious gesture to have her mimic his actions.

His pleading eyes had made it impossible for her to refuse, so she did his bidding. And the next thing she knew, everything had turned black.

She had woken a day later, laying on her bed with her finger bandaged. The first thing she did was to look for Drogon, afraid something would have happened to him, but he had been sleeping peacefully cuddled with his brothers on a pile of cushions. She had noticed then that they seemed more colorful than usual. More vibrant. She could see little details from their scales and spikes that weren't there before, and if she focused enough it was possible to even hear their breathing and smell the smoke on their bodies.

It was novel, if not overwhelming. 

It never occurred to her to worry for her son. At that point she had been pregnant for five moons and felt constantly tired and still suffered from some nausea. Yet, after waking, she felt stronger, more energetic and healthier than ever before. She still called for the midwife, just to be sure. Risking her son's life was never an option.

Nonetheless, she had worried for Drogon. What he had done was a blood pact of sorts, so something should have been exchanged between them. Since her senses had hightenend, didn't that mean that his were dulled? How could a dragon survive for long with dulled senses? But she had no way of knowing how such a pact would affect him.

It wasn't until he woke that she was truly shocked.

She didn't  _ see _ him wake. She  _ felt _ him.  _ Inside her mind _ .

There was no proper way to put all of it into words. Their minds were connected during the time both were awake, like having two people inside one room, coexisting but not intruding on the other. Each had their own thoughts and feelings that could be shared when they willed it.

It felt like they could talk with their minds, except that Drogon didn't talk. He understood her speech, but couldn't replicate it. If he tried to, for her it felt like a shapeless intention, an intangible mix of feelings, images, smells and sounds. She could understand it well enough, but that made it impossible to have any form of complex conversation.

It had felt odd at first, but they had grown used to it. Inside her mind, Dany liked to forgo words. It felt freeing and their communication became easier because of it.

With time, she discovered many things about her dragons. The most important one was knowing their bond had not dulled Drogon's senses, but sharpened them. She felt skeptical at that, as there was bound to be a negative side effect for them, which was when her black son had let her know that their lives were also connected. If one of them died, the other would soon follow. Although she would wish for Drogon to stay by Rhaego's side, it still couldn't be considered as something bad. However, were they to die of old age, she didn't know if they wouldn't make it past sixty or if she would follow him and live on for centuries. 

She hoped they would even out. A little over one hundred would be ideal so they could see her great-grandchildren.

She had also found out about his memories. Although she preferred to call it their blood inheritance. 

All dragons are born with no recollection of the past. But as they grow, they start to remember the lives or other dragons perished long before them. From what she could tell, no two dragons would have the same memories, as there was no order to how they were remembered. They would also never stop dreaming about them for as long as they lived. Dany wondered if it had something to do with the size of their brains. Despite sharing their minds, she could not recall the past of Drogon's ancestors unless he showed it to her, but ever since their blood bond, she had started to have more dragon dreams. 

It wasn't often, maybe once every other moon, and it was always about snippets of the lives of silver or golden haired people she had no way of knowing. The background, however, sometimes she could recognize. It was either Dragonstone, the Red Keep or a place so magical it could only be Valyria. Considering the contents of her dreams, she understood why Drogon would almost never share his with her. Aside from being a window to the past, there was hardly anything interesting in them. For dragons it was even worse, as they were nothing but mounts and tools of war. A bond like the one she shared with her children was inconceivable, and from what she had seen, almost shameful.

Dany is glad for their bond, and can only hope there won't be a side effect to it down the road. She has no way of knowing if something is being kept at bay by her magic, otherwise, she would have considered letting her brother do it. But it is too dangerous, and she has no intention of exposing him to harm that can be avoided. 

Viserys had surprised her. Although she had thought of straightening him up, never in her wildest dreams had she considered this outcome. Truthfully, when she was sent back she did not remember much of him. It had been almost forty years, after all. It was probably because she was too frightened by him back then that she never saw the desperation in his eyes.

Yet this time he all but begged her to kill him.

If she wasn't sure before, now she could be certain there was something about their past he had never told her. It most likely had to do with Lys, when any warmth he might have had for her was snuffed out. Although her childhood memories were foggy, she could never forget the city where they lost their mother's crown. 

Whatever had happened, he would tell her when he was ready. She could see his struggle and his attachment to a routine. Whenever something disturbed it, he grew restless as if he had no idea of what to do with himself. He had also become devoted to protecting Rhaego even if he refused to hold him, as if by doing so would bring both pain.

She wished to help her brother, yet did not see a way to go about it. While Dany could understand the need to cling to something while being afraid to face your issues, she feared Viserys would never attempt to get closer to his family based on some stupid notion of self imposed punishment. But she was afraid of forcing him out of his shell and ending up doing more harm than good.

For now, she would wait. Maybe settling in Astapor will give him the stability he needs to feel safe. She could only hope.

x

By the end of the fourth moon since setting up camp near the Skahazadhan's shores, the mood within the khalasar had relaxed. 

Dany had thought it would take longer, but the dothraki were fast at adapting. The smaller horde also made it easy for them to familiarize with others they wouldn't associate with before. The warriors had grown to respect the blade-wives but still wouldn't put importance in anyone who couldn't ride. There was no way around it, but at least they worked hard in  _ luring _ the women they wanted to fuck. 

Their methods were amusing. Most of them resorted to besting others in a fight and parading around puffing up their chests while flexing their arms and stomach to look bigger and stronger. Some of those were so successful they had many women throwing themselves at them. The ones who couldn't use such methods - the thinner, lankier ones - would use gifts instead. Any riches they had accumulated would do. If there were no riches, then they would hunt animals. The dothraki were used to horse meat, so anything different was treated as a delicacy. 

Some women didn't care for strength or gifts and simply wanted to have a man. Those would usually find the quiet ones who were more likely to care for their pleasure to keep them coming for more.

She had told her people that they were allowed to marry if they wished to, but if so they couldn't take anyone else. The response was lukewarm at best, but she didn't mind. All she wanted was for them to know they had the option.

All in all, it was good.

Her plan of taking Astapor and abolishing slavery was no secret, and they supported her decision, claiming all people under the sun should be as free as a dragon in the sky.

It shouldn't have surprised her, and it didn't, in truth. The dothraki were free people, freer than any other she had ever seen. She simply had not realized until then they had rationalized her act of breaking chains as her way of bringing the true freedom of a stallion running in the grasslands to more people. They wanted to show to the world that true strength was in defending this freedom, that you only had true power when others wanted to bow their heads to you, the way they did to her.

She had teared up at that.

Dany truly enjoyed the idle life they had now. How good it would be to have it last forever. But it was too dangerous. Even with her children bigger now, too much could happen to their tiny horde. She had Rhaego this time, and risking his safety was unacceptable.

Besides, Missandei and Grey Worm were waiting for her, even if they didn't know it yet.

She had been lying on a mat with a pile of pillows underneath her, little Rhaego sitting by her side, entirely captivated by Jhiqi's tale. She always told stories like she had been there at the time, and her son loved it even if he couldn't understand. His big eyes trained on every gesture of hers, little mouth hanging open. When she scared him, he laughed so merrily his eyes disappeared into slits, and he always turned to her to make sure she was laughing as well.

What a happy babe her son was. It was hard to make him cry from anything other than hunger. She wondered if her blood pact with Drogon had influenced him as well, making his little body sturdier. She hoped so.

Dany bent down to plant a kiss on his head when Ser Jorah and Rakharo came in. She had told them to let everyone know they would leave tomorrow for Astapor and it hadn't been long since they left. Rakharo looked disgruntled while her old knight seemed pleased, "the lhazareen have come, Khaleesi. Will you meet them?"

She frowned.  _ Now? _

She knew they hated dothraki and did not blame them for it, nor did she hold much hope for an alliance between them. Still, she had asked. After so many moons of silence she had almost forgotten about it.

"Alright," she gave her son another kiss before getting up, "bring me Meroh." No doubt they had someone who knew the common tongue, but being so close to Astapor reminded her of the vitriol she was forced to hear from Kraznys mo Nakloz. If she was to be insulted again she should at least be aware of it.

Meroh wasn't even ten when Drogo's khalasar had raided his village. He had somehow survived and managed to not be sold before he was stuffed by her side to serve her. Despite doing her best to be kind to those under her, she would never make the same mistake of thinking they owed her any gratitude again. However, that never stopped her from trying to learn more about them. 

Meroh was now fifteen and among the freedmen who had taken up the arakh. He had chosen to stay with her instead of going to Hesh to live with his fellow lhazareen, claiming it was better to stay by her side where he could do something against those who would enslave his people, instead of herding sheep while waiting for the next khal to come.

Daenerys waited for them in the clearance outside her tent. While it would be better to receive them inside, she wouldn't allow unknown people near her son.

It didn't take long for Rakharo to appear with Meroh behind him,  _ "Khaleesi?" _

_ "People from Hesh have come. Just stay by my side and do not speak." _

He looked doubtfully at her, but still acquiesced.

Soon Ser Jorah appeared with three people behind him. A young man of twenty, tanned with short black hair and eyes walked beside another who seemed like the older version of him. He should be around forty, with the same skin and eyes as the younger, but with longer, grey streaked hair. He held the arm of an old lady who had a hunched back and a cane in her other hand, with white hair tied to a low bun behind her neck and glassy silvery eyes.

_ Why make a blind old woman who could barely walk come all the way here? _

_ "Fetch a bench to the lady." _

One of the girls was quick to do it. When the old woman finally set she had let out a sigh of relief, but didn't speak. The other two also didn't open their mouths, but their expression eased some.

_ What is the point of coming here if you refuse to speak? _

"You are?"

The young man bristled at her bluntness, "This is chief Remon from Hesh. And Haerii Mekh, our godswife. I'm Remon son, Mhoren."

She nodded, "I'm Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons and Khaleesi of the Dragon Horde."

Before she could wonder if the title was too much, she saw a few of her dothraki who could understand the common tongue standing taller and puffing up their chests. She had to fight a smile at their pride.

She continued, "why come now?"

"You asked us."

_ Do not roll your eyes.  _ "Yes, four moons ago. And you only come when we are about to leave. Why?"

Mhoren turned to his father, repeating her question. Remon's eyes widened slightly and he hesitated for a moment before answering. Haerii only sat still by their side with closed eyes, as if made of marble.

Mhoren eyed her warily, "chief asks what a khaleesi want from a lhazareen."

Daenerys observed them. It was hard to see, but she could tell all of them were nervous, even their godswife, although her tells were barely noticeable. Erratic breathing, tensed muscles, clenched jaws. They had watched her and her khalasar for four moons before deciding she wasn't a threat to them. They had not known she was to leave tomorrow, otherwise they would never have come. Was this luck of rebirth?

"I plan on leaving tomorrow for Astapor. I will take the city and free the slaves. I wish for an alliance between Astapor and Hesh."

Any effort Mhoren had put in keeping his face even was forgotten at that moment. His eyes grew wide and his mouth opened with shock. Remon had a much more subtle reaction, but was shocked nonetheless.

"What alliance?"

"Right now, I can't say for sure. I plan to supply the city with their own food grown in fields by the Worm River, but it won't be enough in the short term. At the start, I would like to have your sheep. And of course, I'll pay," she waited for the translation to be over, "if all goes well, we can discuss further trade."

Remon listened to it all and fell in contemplation. After a while of silence, he turned to speak with the godswife. Her unseeing eyes rested on hers as her voice croaked with a short answer, before closing them again and becoming as still as a statue. Whatever doubt Remon held, it disappeared with the old woman's words.

"How long until Astapor is yours?"

Instead of answering, she suggested, "give me someone you trust to bring with me. After I take Astapor I'll send them back to you with guards to keep them safe. They will tell you what they saw, and then you can decide what you'll do."

Remon's eyes did not stray from hers. While she might have need for their lambs, it wasn't the only thing she wanted from them. Despite what she felt for Mirri Maz Duur, the lhazareen woman's knowledge was impressive. Daenerys did not believe there were many like her but she would be a fool to underestimate the homeland that made it possible for her to become what she was. 

She wanted to trade intelligence and culture, so that both could prosper together. But to do so she needed to earn their trust first.

You can't trust someone you don't know. 

While she risked scaring them with her ruthlessness, she refused to think of them as meek sheep. Refused to think they didn't resent their oppressors.

If there was no slavery, what would the dothraki do?

For all they talked about not trading, they sure depended on slaves for their livelihood.

"I will go."

Daenerys and Remon looked at Mhoren at the same time. He did not have any sign of unease on him, standing tall and unwavering. Remon tried to convince him not to go, if his tone was any indication, and it soon grew into an argument between father and son. She could understand Remon's misgivings, but it wasn't her place to interfere.

Haerri Mekh stood and directed a withering look at both men, before turning to Meroh’s direction and speaking with him. Her words made Remon seem as if he wanted to argue but did not dare to, while Mhoren tried to hide his satisfaction. Meroh looked like a boy caught stealing sweets while translating,  _ “the godswife says she knows khaleesi is worthy, but still needs to prove herself to the lhazareen people. She hopes khaleesi will take good care of her great-grandson.” _

_ “Tell her I intend to.”  _ After Meroh delivered her response, she turned to Mhoren, “you may bring companions with you. I would suggest anyone familiar with the terrain and mountains around the bay,” she paused, “it should take around four moons before you’re back.”

Daenerys averted her gaze to take in everyone around her. She had to remind herself once more of what was at stake. _I must not fail this time. I will not._ She took a deep breath before slowly releasing it. _For_ _I am not alone._

_ “We depart at sunrise!” _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to make this short (and fail *miserably*):  
> I've been reading some metas (it's been 10 years and I only read 3 books) and I must be clear about two points.  
> 1\. Book Jon is a darling (probably. did not read enough). @turtle-paced wrote a (great) comparison between S2 Jon and his book counterpart and I now feel free to say I absolutely HATE show!Jon. I won't elaborate on that, just know that they are two completely different entities to me and I'll make show!Jon as miserable as I can. But he's still show!Jon, I'll keep him in character so it's more fun.  
> 2\. As you've seen... I made Dany's second life pretty shitty, because that's honestly how I see it going (although maybe killing FAegon was too much). But this is why I don't want to go into detail about it. What I wanted to portray was how she went from passive and weak (1st life) to active and strong (2nd life), but both did not work, so in this 3rd chance she would take the path in the middle, which is my ideal for her.  
> Then I read about book!Dany. And I got mad. Because that's my Dany. Even the things I had planned for Astapor were all things she already did in Meereen. Sure, my Dany is (hopefully) what book!Dany will become after the roadtrip with Drogon, but you get it.  
> My point is: I have no arc for her. There's no growth. She's already where she was supposed to be, and I'm honestly done with her going through hardship. I'll keep writing this because it gives my heart some comfort, but I just wanted to warn those who might be expecting some big intrigue or fight or war or whatever.  
> So, what you should expect: favorites from (show) Westeros coming at least to say hi and say how things are over there, a fuckton of OCs from all over Essos, maybe magic, maybe Valyria if I figure out how to uncurse it, alliances with YiTi-Moraq-Leng, a hot (and loyal) prince coming her way... And there's no end in sight.
> 
> And I'll just quietly leave this here~  
>  https://groovypalacewobblereagle.tumblr.com/post/614392913105977344/daenerys-targaryen-and-ophelia-an-essay


	5. The Smiling Hog I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say in my last chapter, y'all should read lostchildofthenewworld's A Shadowed Path. It's about getting justice for Elia Martel and marrying her to a hot as hell sultan from Moraq. The alliance I'm giving Dany here came from her work, so y'all check her out!
> 
> About this chapter... Clan = House and Sect ≈ Warden (sort of, because there's no land to own). There's honestly not much about Astapor, so I took a lot of liberties. The Octad refers to the eight people in charge of those sects.  
> Also I'm not messing with religion. Just pretend there were priests once who tried to climb over the major clan's heads and ended up getting killed for it. They worship the harpy as a symbol of their power, and that's about it.

"Her Grace will be here shortly, Lord Andok."

Andok zo Shez nodded, struggling to keep an honest smile on his face, “thank you, Missandei.” It wasn’t in his nature to be rude, but he could not help his annoyance at being received by the Queen’s little scribe. 

She bowed slightly and left, his smile gone along with her. He slowly made his way to sit by the desk in the Queen’s solar to rest his old bones. His ivory cane knocked rhythmically against the carpeted floor, colliding softly with the jeweled fringes of his cumbersome tokar. Despite being the richest man in Astapor for over a decade, he had never been invited to this chamber when the Nakloz clan still existed. He doubted it looked the same. 

The Queen had a frugal style, to put it kindly, but it did not surprise him. Always being on the run or roaming about probably wouldn't be conducive to amass wealth to the point of opulence like the great nobles of Astapor liked to flaunt about. Still, it had some subdued elegance to it. All the furniture was finely carved from sandalwood, including the bookcase stuffed with what seemed to him to be all the books from Astapor in it. There was a clean feeling from the bare walls, interrupted only by a few tasteful tapestries hanging from them. White silk curtains had rich but barely noticeable embroidery on its fringed silvery ends, flowing mildly with the breeze from the sea. The balcony itself had ceiling high carved doors framing the view from outside, and was filled with potted foliage and fragrant flowers, making the whole chamber seem more welcoming. It did have the Queen’s style. Warm and inviting.

_ To her people. _

While it was obvious she could care less about the needs of the nobles, she had attempted to accommodate them. Whether it was genuine or something else, he could not decide. His eyes would never lie to him, all her actions pointed to a young naive girl who had bitten more than she could chew and was struggling to swallow it down, yet his instincts told him otherwise. And they had yet to fail him. 

Andok’s mother, lady Qharin, had raised her children by herself. Despite being sold to their clan, she had killed his father and grandfather before they had the chance to lead them to complete ruin. He had been thirteen then, forced to witness his father’s “lessons” about the better way to handle their slaves innumerous times. His unwillingness to follow through had won him many beatings and even more for his mother, the “cause” of his weakness. Were it not for her, he would never have had the chance to bring their minor clan to the height of wealthness, for she was the one who had taught him to leave room in all matters and to always have a path open for retreat.

The day Queen Daenerys had taken Astapor he had mildly thought his mother had missed the point for once. She had feared a slave revolt would happen at some point, when they grew angry enough to burn the city down like she had wanted to do with their home. The only thing that had held her back were her children, and the slaves had no such impediment. While he agreed with her logic, he also thought she gave them too much credit. How many years had they lived like this? And yet nothing ever happened. So while he treated his servants well enough he wasn't above reminding them of their position, lest they started to think about walking over him.

And he had been right, in the end. They did not revolt, but were liberated by a small reckless girl.

He knew Kraznys mo Nakloz intended to sell the Unsullied for a dragon. What had made the imbecile think he could ever tame a dragon was beyond him. It was folly, but despite his wealth he had no voice against any of the Octad. Of the eight Great Sects, the Nakloz had the oldest lineage and owned the tallest pyramid of Astapor, besides being the ones in control of the Unsullied’s training and trading. Andok himself was very familiar with Kraznys’ foul mouth and contempt for anyone underneath him. He reminded him of his father, both men worse than animals, taking pleasure in bloody, sadistic torture. Kraznys even held a particular kind of malice towards those of valyrian descent.

So it didn’t surprise him to learn Kraznys had tried to kill the girl to get his precious Unsullied back.

When the Unsullied invaded his home to break the collars of his slaves, he was glad he had been lecturing his grandsons and thus able to stop them from fighting back. Aside from losing a few guards and being inconveniently locked with the rest of his clan in their manse, there wasn’t much loss for him. He knew it wasn’t a revolt, otherwise they would be long dead, but he never expected the one responsible to be someone so  _ young. _

Although her tale of defending herself and getting revenge by liberating all the slaves of Astapor seemed like a poorly thought out lie, her nerves were plain for anyone to see. She had done it on impulse and created chaos when all she had wanted was an army to claim her westerosi throne. To add insult to injury, her orders had been to free all slaves and slay all who resisted, but to harm no child under fourteen. It sounded merciful and even foolish, yet it had killed most of their heirs. It was painfully clear they were all under the whims of a stupid little girl with an army and dragons, and yet…

His stomach churned as he thought back at the sight of those six bodies chained by their necks in the Nakloz Pit, far from the dragon’s nests so that anyone could come close enough to see the maggots worming around the rotten ends of their chewed off limbs. To make it worse, the freedmen would often throw things at them, be it rocks, rotten food, excrement and even their broken collars. Some had even fed them to keep them alive for longer. 

Andok had to admit his mother had been right about their rage. They only needed an opportunity to show it, and were he in their place he might have done even worse.

All six were heads of the Octad. After the rather embarrassing conquering of Astapor, the Queen had been firm in her position of bettering the lives of her freedmen, taking half of the accumulated wealth of all nobility. Yet even in that she had been a soft hearted fool. Half of his assets was more than enough to hire one sellsword army if he wanted to oppose her, which was precisely what they had done. Had they succeeded nothing would change for him, but had they failed – as they did – he would lose everything he had worked for. Despite never considering helping them, he still hadn’t gone against them, so the thought of the old hag from the Azza Great Sect betraying the others had never even crossed his mind. Yet she was the only one in Astapor who had the ability to find and coerce those witnesses into speaking against the other heads.

Hamadna Azza was the only child of Mazdaz zo Azza who had survived infancy, and the only woman he knew who had claimed power over her own clan. Her husband had mysteriously died from illness after she had gotten a child out of him, yet she never yielded her position as sect or clan head to her son or grandsons. Now she was old enough to have great-grandchildren and her clan had risen to be the second richest in all of Astapor, only barely losing to him. The woman was a treacherous harpy, and all who offended her ended up dropping like flies around her great pyramid.

It had been a fortnight since the public trial of the sect heads. Besides becoming dragon food, they had also lost the rest of their wealth and the noble titles of their families. Yet the Queen had not killed their wives and whatever was left of their heirs, leaving them with enough to “survive until they figured out how to survive by themselves”. It was a pretty worded death sentence. After living in luxury and above others all their lives it simply wasn’t possible to start over from nothing. He had wondered if it was intentional on her part, but figured she simply thought it wasn’t all that hard, having done it herself. Not that he cared, as now he had one of the eight great pyramids and a seat in the Queen’s council.

She had chosen three nobles and three freedmen. Besides him and Hamadna Azza, there was also Qazmas na Gholu. Aside from the fact he had belonged to the Nakloz Sect, Andok did not know much about him. All from the Octad always looked at him with contempt, so there was nothing surprising about the man's eyes. From the freedmen he knew even less. Horan Ennolis was a former pit fighter from the Free Cities. Jonanos Da, a summer islander scholar from a now extinct sect. Karrima was a westerosi and former pleasure slave. He had heard the Queen made them choose their own representatives, as she had done with the nobles the first time, but given how he was chosen, maybe an attempted coup had changed her mind about the method of selection.

Andok had been to three meetings so far, and he had to admit the little Queen was truly thinking for her people. 

Almost three moons since she took Astapor have passed, and she has made fine use of the collected wealth. 

Outside the city gates there were canals and ditches dug from the Worm River to irrigate fields of crops she had bought from Tolos, New Ghis and Volantis, with more to come when the ships sent to the other Free Cities returned. Wheat, carrots, onions and potatoes were planted in different locations and tended to in multiple ways to see how they would adapt better to their land. Trees brought from the Isle of Cedars were planted by the river’s margins, in the streets, the pits and the terraces of the pyramids. She had also bought cattle, goats and chickens to be raised by the freedmen outside the walls, with more to come should the lhazareen accept her offer. 

All the watchtowers were now manned by the Unsullied, with more being built outside the gates to keep watch over their fields. He had told her there was no point in doing so if Yunkai and Meereen made up their minds to attack her, as everything outside the walls would be destroyed. She had kindly informed him of the envoys sent to the two slaver cities moons before, with the not so subtle threat of repeatedly burning their ports until they left her alone with her city. 

The Good Masters of Astapor would never care to risk themselves to save one of their own, much less the masters of other cities. While they would think what she had done was an insult, it still wasn’t their city. It was likely they would wait on the sidelines for Astapor to get rid of its own problem.

There weren’t only watchtowers being built, as she was also repairing the walls and fortifying the city as a whole. The Unsullied helped taking note of all its weak points so the Queen could send masons and freedmen to repair it. The Plaza of Punishment had provided much of the material used for repairs, and it was now being filled with fertile land also brought from the Isle of Cedars and other islets. It seemed his tree loving Queen wanted to plant even more trees. The headless harpies from all over the city – another little revenge of hers – were all taken down and dismantled, given to the freedmen who had chosen to leave Astapor. 

She had also started to form craft guilds, and was currently working to lure the craft masters to them. 

Until recently, all artisans were under the nobility, and the majority of the minor clans were under one of the Octad. His own clan was an anomaly, as the richer he got the more the great nobles scorned him, refusing to take him in as if his fortune was dirty and cursed. It hadn’t mattered much, for he also had a good number of artisans under him. He and the Azza Clan would most likely continue as they were, but now with seven major sects gone, there was bound to be a shift to this structure, and the little Queen was already fishing the best of them for herself.

Her proposal was quite good, lowering the taxes of the goods they needed and giving them a tenth of the profit made by those under the master, on the condition they would accept freedmen and women as apprentices. And yet many were still reluctant as they did not want to pass on their knowledge to any former slaves. He knew she had given material to all of the masters – including his own – in the city early on and requested for their finest work in return, most likely so she could focus on luring the best instead of wasting her time on the ordinary ones.

And yet the most baffling of changes was her decision to take ownership of all the pleasure houses of Astapor. After all she had taken from the nobility as taxes and fines, it wasn't as if she lacked the money. She had given half of their earnings to the pleasure workers, two tenths to the Unsullied who guarded them, another two for maintenance of the houses and kept the miser rest for the crown. Needless to say, the noblemen weren’t happy about that. The Queen had essentially cut down all their sources of profit but she paid them no mind. She had promised that at the very least, they wouldn’t starve, and for those who behaved there would be new opportunities in the future. 

He was skeptical.

Although the little Queen had proved she wasn’t daft, all of that would be for naught if she couldn’t find something for Astapor to use for trade. There was nothing of valor around the city, only rocks and sand. Even if they could feed themselves in the future, was there any point in living when the slightest trouble could make them starve? He had not climbed to this point to let a little girl ruin his life and family, yet he couldn’t be rash when dealing with her. Her dragons, dothraki, armies  _ and _ freedmen would never sit still should anything happen to their Queen. If he chose to leave now she would keep all his assets, and while he valued his family more than money, it still hasn't gotten to the point where he had to make such a choice. That old hag had probably thought the same when she helped the little Queen get rid of the others. She would bid her time while getting closer to the crown. Even if most of her grandsons were unremarkable, she still could marry one of them to the Queen. But so could he. 

However, if he were to go down that path he couldn't give her reason to mistrust him. For someone who wasn't under the Octad, to get to his place… The Queen might be soft hearted and rash, but she wasn’t stupid. Although the punishment for owning and trading slaves was not as brutal as the one for attempting to kill one of the royal family, he had no wish to find out whether or not dragon fire was truly painless. If he came clean first and used the right words, he didn’t believe he couldn’t sway her to forgive him and even keep him closely by her side.

Andok heard the door opening behind him, and got up from his chair to bow to the Queen.

“Lord Andok. Please rise, you can forgo formality when we are alone," she reached out to help him sit, "I hope you haven't waited for long."

"It can't be helped, Your Grace. Your subjects must show respect even when they're old like me." He gave her a benevolent smile, "and your solar is very welcoming, the wait was quite pleasant."

She returned a sweet smile, "I'm glad you like it, I'm quite fond of it myself. Would you like some water?" The little Queen served him without waiting for an answer before pouring some for herself. She was wrapped in a sky blue tokar with silvery fringes of her own, yet it looked oddly comfortable when she wore it. The only jewelry she had were three silver bracelets on her wrists and two bells tied to a lone braid framing her small face. Warm and pure. Nothing like a Queen.

Andok tried hard to look humbled, "Thank you, Your Magnificence."

"It's nothing," she gestured for him to drink while she sat behind her desk, "you must have found me for something urgent, seeing as it couldn't wait until tomorrow." Her eyes met his, curious and unguarded. Although it frustrated him to have someone so guileless above him, right now it worked in his favor.

"I do, Your Grace. I have… something to confess." Once again, he did his best to look ashamed, "I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you."

She stared at him for a moment before arching one eyebrow, "is this about your business outside? I thought I would have to catch you red handed."

He felt a cold chill run down his spine, but maintained the ashamed look on his face, "yes, Your Grace. I thought it would be better to bring this up myself, now that I'm in your council."

She tilted her head to the side, keeping her eyes trained on him. The violet so piercing it felt like she could see through his bare soul, "you want a pardon."

It wasn't a question, but he still concurred, lowering his head, "I do, Your Grace."

She leaned back on her chair, drumming her forefinger on the table. Each soft tap felt like a hammer pounding on his old heart. For all he scorned her softheartedness, he hated even more having to rely on it.

"It's not impossible," she drawled, "but I would like a little favor from you."

The hand on his cane hurt from his grip as he squeezed out a question, "may I ask what favor, Your Grace?"

"Nothing much. I want to try incorporating the nobility in our new era. For that, I need them to behave like human beings first. While burning people might be easier…" she sighed, shaking her head, "I need to at least try a different path first."

His hand relaxed slightly. Although it sounded like a fool's errand, it wasn't anything too damning, "what would that entail, Your Grace?"

"Setting trends. People like to mimic those above them as if by doing so it would raise their prestige. If the head of the Shez Clan acts a certain way, the minor clans would be more susceptible to accept and replicate it. For now it doesn't have to be anything much. You are still the wealthiest man in Astapor, flaunt it by treating your servants generously. In time, people would know how rich you are just by looking at those who serve you."

He thought about it. It did make sense, and although it had some cost added to paying their wages, it wasn't anything he couldn't afford. He doubted it would ever erase savagery for good, but it was certainly better than having her simply burn all the nobles. Even so…

"While your idea might be feasible, Your Grace, don't you think it would have a better effect if Hamadna Azza was the one doing it? Her sect is the only one left of the Octad. The lesser nobles would be more willing to consider it if she was the one to set the precedence."

The Queen smiled sweetly, "of course she would also do it. But wouldn't it be better for you if you started it?"

Andok stared at her harmless smile. He was firm on his belief that mercy had no place in Slaver's Bay, yet this little Queen might not be as bad as he had thought. If he was the first to start a trend, it would imply the old hag was mimicking his actions and his social standing would be much higher. There was no Octad anymore and the hag would soon die, making it only a matter of time before his clan could climb over the last of the Great Sects.

"You are most kind, Your Grace." Whether it was truly kindness or just her pitting them against each other, he didn't care. If he had to bow his head to someone, it was better if they had brains. He was already old anyway, the best he could hope for was smoothing the path for his clan to keep itself above the others.

"I'm glad you think so. Depending on what I find on this outside venture of yours, you might even keep some shares of it."

Andok forced his breathing to remain even. Was she actually daft? _ Why give me a boon for going against your laws? _ Did she not see what kind of precedence that would set? 

He struggled to morph his expression into humble surprise, "Y-Your Grace?"

She kept her sweet smile, "it's not definite. Your Shez Clan might be the only one who isn't downright cruel to its servants, otherwise they wouldn't have returned to you no matter how much you paid them. I know you only do so to make them work harder, not because of any feelings, but I can't expect much better from a slaver." Her fingers played with the little bells on her braid, ringing them softly, "of course, should I find the opposite of that, then you will have to be glad for even managing to keep your life."

Talking to the Queen wasn't good for his old heart. His instincts had been right afterall. There was nothing harmless about her. 

But it was better that way. She was likely to only grow more powerful in the future as her dragons grew larger, so going against her directly was folly. It wasn't hard for her to get rid of him and seize his assets, yet she didn't do it because he had more worth alive and rich. Her bottom lines weren't something he would touch casually, so he did not have to fear her turning on him without warning.

As for his southern business… "I believe you will be quite pleased with what you find, Your Grace," he had found long ago that offering slaves the option to buy their freedom with work and keeping them healthy did wonders to efficiency. There was never any need to keep anyone whipping them about to do their work, which greatly reduced their deaths. Although he still had to replace them often, always getting fresher ones proved to be worth it in the long run. If it weren't for that he would never have dared to tell her about it himself.

His comment had not surprised her. "And might I ask what are those secret goods you've gone through so much trouble to keep hidden?" She looked at him genuinely curious.

"Just the one, Your Grace," he allowed himself a pleased smile while finally relaxing in his chair, not bothering to hide his pride.

"Sugar."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile Ser Barristan have been stalking our queen since she got to Astapor, trying to worm his way into her side without revealing who he is. 
> 
> Ah, Andok has told us many things, but it's not all Dany has done. Some he just doesn't know yet (or never will) and some he just doesn't care to learn, i.e. how the queen offered to buy back the bronze from the dismantled harpies to make traveling easier for people who left. Carrying around a chunk of of metal simply isn't pratical.  
> I hope I made it clear he's not a good guy. I did call him a pig.
> 
> Viserys, Missandei, Barristan or someone else, for next? It should be... 9 months after or something. I need to recalculate some stuff.
> 
> Also, I love all your kudos a LOT, but consider commenting? Even if briefly. Feedback is good for this writer's little soul, even if it's critique!


	6. The Old Knight I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, I'll make no predictions about the next chapters, as I clearly don't know where this is going.  
> And I swear I tried to edit this to make it shorter, but it only grew more and more words. I give up.
> 
> Also, GRRM is great and all, but he obviously doesn't give two shits about Essos. He went all "pyramids are cool, the nobles should live in them!", but can you imagine that? Living in a pyramid? I mean, they are tombs for a reason. Even the mesoamerican ones weren't supposed to be lived in, as far as I'm aware. Correct me if I'm wrong.  
> Anyway, I sort of retconned them, but they are still pyramids. It's more of a Babylon Hanging Gardens vibe (without the gardens for now).
> 
> (The space between paragraphs are larger because I'm too lazy to erase them)

"What if I like flowers?"

The girl who had spoken, a tiny thing with a shaved head, looked at the silver haired woman with wide, curious eyes. The Queen smiled fondly at her and offered her hand, making the little girl bite her lips to contain a giddy smile. When she took the offered hand, the queen pulled her and placed the child on her lap, rubbing one hand over the fuzzy head, "well, if you like flowers, there's also a lot to be done. If you plant the most beautiful flowers in Astapor, all crafts masters will come to admire and take inspiration from them. You could choose the most fragrant ones and make perfume or scented pouches. You could discover which ones can be used for healing, or which ones can be eaten, or which ones can be used to make a person more beautiful." The Queen pinched the girl's nose, making her giggle, and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, "you can even discover some use no one has ever thought of before, and become a master yourself."

"Like me with my rocks!"

The Queen laughed heartily at the boy's shout, "Yes. Like you with your rocks." She had given a similar speech to the boy, naming all sorts of options available to someone who was fond of rocks. "You all have to study and find something you want to do in the future, so you can help me take better care of everyone."

All the children and even some adults started to chat about what they liked and about ways to make use of it, while their small Queen listened attentively. Barristan had been mixed in the crowd dressed as a beggar, observing Queen Daenerys. 

It had been five moons since he had arrived at Astapor, a day before the Queen took it from its former masters. 

From the day he had been forced to retire from his post as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan had taken the time to think about what he had accomplished in his life. He had always taken pride in keeping his vows and being an honorable man, yet he couldn't avoid having regrets.

Not being able to protect the royal family had been one of them since the day he heard about their deaths, yet it had not compelled him to leave his white cloak behind and seek the little king across the Narrow Sea. Viserys had been too young back then, and Barristan always felt like the boy was his father’s son, seeing how he liked to parrot the King's callous words to poor Elia and princess Rhaenys. He had decided to accept Robert Baratheon's pardon and to serve him when he saw the former King’s chivalrousness and forgiveness, hoping he would be a better King than Aerys. Unfortunately, he ended up spending his life serving another unworthy king for fifteen years, even if he still held pride in being faithful to his vows.

The fact that he had to be dismissed by a boy to make him realize how many years he had wasted serving men unfit for the throne had shamed Barristan, but he was determined to not make the same mistake again. Despite having crossed the Narrow Sea to look for the king he had forsaken long ago, he wouldn't blindly swear himself. He had intended to stay close enough so he could decide for himself whether or not this king would be worth serving. Yet he only found the King's sister, a Queen in her own right.

He had never heard any rumours about her brother or saw any silver haired man by her side. Barristan had assumed the king had most likely died, otherwise Daenerys would not have had reason to take the crown for herself, and he could not help but feel somewhat relieved by it. 

From what he had seen, the Queen was kind and just. She hated slavery yet had not killed all the masters from Astapor. She cared for her people and had committed herself to better their lives, even at the cost of delaying the claim of her birthright.

Two moons seemed enough to convince him of her character, but before he could reveal himself to her, she had announced the trial of six heads of the Octad. What had started as another proof of her being a just Queen, had ended with the most cruel and sickening execution Barristan had seen. 

And they cheered her for it.

When her dragons moved to rip the Great Lords' limbs apart, Barristan had kept his eyes on her. He had been determined to turn and leave the moment she showed the slightest sign of pleasure from the horrid sight before them, but it never came. The Queen had done her best to keep her expression even, but she couldn't help the paleness on her face. 

Over the next days he had witnessed many freedmen throwing all sorts of things at the lords’ chained bodies, and stopping anyone who attempted to end their misery. They claimed that a few days of torture would never be enough to compensate decades, centuries, and even millenia of their oppression and cruelty.

Barristan understood then that this place wasn't Westeros. 

He had thought the slaves led lives similar to the smallfolk in the west, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. They were captured, sold and trained to do their chores like animals. Chained, flogged and starved. These people were nothing but goods to be traded. He couldn't put himself in their place. He couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to not be afforded the slightest decency, to have even your clothes taken from you so people could better judge whether or not you were worth a bargain.

Barristan had gone from port to port in the Free Cities, following rumours of a Dragon Queen until he arrived at Slaver's Bay. He had seen many slaves during his journey, yet despite despising Essos for its practices, there was nothing to be done about it. Slavery hadn't changed for eight thousand years, why would it be any different now? 

But Queen Daenerys clearly did not agree with that.

The rumours said she had done it out of revenge, but if she only wanted an army, why would she free the Unsullied? If she only cared for herself, why would she stay and rule Astapor instead of going west? If she did not care for the freedmen, why would she work so hard to give them better lives? Of all the money she collected from the noblemen, almost none of it could be seen on her person. She wore leather sandals, a simple tunic and a small crown that looked more like a hair ornament. Even when holding petitions it wasn't much different, except for the quality of her clothes and adornments. None of her advisors or guards wore lavish garments or made use of their position to abuse others. Even her dothraki were remarkably obedient to their queen, as Barristan had never heard anything about them raping or stealing other people.

Even so, he had been especially cautious after the trial. He had never managed to find an opportunity to place himself by her side, and observing from afar wasn’t enough to properly determine her character. He tried to convince himself that it could all be a charade from her part, a mask she put on to seem benevolent, yet all her actions made it plain to see where her priorities lied. Orphanages, aid for the elderly and women, training freedmen who had nowhere to go, planting their own food, giving money for those who wished to leave, punishing crimes regardless of social standing, and now even arranging for all the freedmen to learn how to write and count, actively planning for their future.

This was the ruler he wanted to serve. Someone who could make him proud, whom he could wholeheartedly devote himself to.

The Queen got up from her seat and said her goodbyes to the children from the orphanage, promising she would come back soon. He knew her promise was true, as she made a point to go to one of her orphanages at least once every fortnight. There were more places to visit, and although her schedule wasn't precise, the Queen could be frequently seen walking in the streets of Astapor, which had thankfully granted him plenty of opportunities to watch her. 

He had made up his mind.

Barristan walked away from the crowd and stopped in front of his Queen, pleased at the lances and arakhs that were pointed at him despite his appearance, "I've been searching for you, Daenerys Stormborn,” her expression was calm, curious but not surprised, “to ask your forgiveness. I was sworn to protect your family…” his head lowered, ashamed, “I failed them." He looked into her violet eyes, determined to make her see the honesty in his words, "I'm Barristan Selmy, Kingsguard to your father. Allow me to join your Queensguard, and I will not fail you again."

"Khaleesi…"

The Queen waved her hand, dismissing their swords with an amused smile on her face, "alright, all of you. Can't you tell he means no ill will? He's been following me for so long I'd be dead and buried if he ever meant to harm me."

Half her guards snapped their head at their Queen and the other half at him, more alert than before. One woman with half shaved hair talked down to their khaleesi so fast her face grew red and spittle flew to the Queen's face, but neither seemed to mind. Queen Daenerys answered calmly in dothraki while patting the other in the arm in an attempt to soothe her anger. The tall woman scowled but said nothing, instead turning her venomous eyes at him while drawing herself closer to her small queen.

Undisciplined but fiercely protective. He had seen many different guards around her, but the women always intrigued him the most. 

"Ser Barristan, why don't we go back to the pyramid first? I assume there's a lot to talk about."

"Of course, Your Grace." It had surprised him how she had been aware of him all along but still chose to keep quiet about it. He didn't know if he should be glad or worried about the Queen's lack of care about her safety. All her guards appeared to have taken that as an offense to their abilities and seemed even more alert about their surroundings.

She spoke to them in High Valyrian and Dothraki in an appeasing tone, promising it wouldn't happen again, but none seemed convinced of that, the tall woman even giving a snort at her words. She turned to him with a helpless smile and a shrug of her shoulders. Barristan had long known she was a charming young woman, but right then he also found her oddly endearing.

He offered her a smile, "they only want to protect you, Your Grace. To see they care so much about it is proof of your excellence."

She gave him a knowing smile, but it did not reach her eyes, "it only proves they genuinely care about my safety."

Barristan had never talked to her before, but felt he would only harm himself if he tried to test her through words. It was better that way, though. Words were worthless when your actions meant the opposite of what you said.

As they got closer to the pyramid, Barristan wondered what it was like on the inside. He had only ever been to the throne room on the fifth floor where the petitions were held. The entrance had five massive intrinsically carved doors, the largest of all in the center, reaching up to the twenty feet tall ceiling. On the Inside there were great pillars all carved from stone, decorated with paintings of harpies warring with men and slaying dragons. The end of the room held stairs leading to where he supposed the throne had once been, behind of which was a glass mosaic of another feral harpy with an unsettling glow to it.

The Queen probably had not had enough time to do anything about the harpies yet, but she had disposed of whatever the throne was and gotten a wooden bench to replace it at the bottom of the stairs.

The stairs that led up until the fifth floor were outside the pyramid and free to anyone who wished to seek their Queen. They consisted of one major set which led directly to the third floor, and then divided into two minor ones perpendicular to the first, forming a diamond shape leading to the throne room entrance two floors above. Whoever wanted to go further had to do so through the ones located inside, which were heavily guarded at all times. There were two entrances leading to them inside the throne room, one at each side of the stairs under the glass mosaic, and when crossing it Barristan finally understood what made the harpy glow so ominously.

The pyramid was hollow.

The center of it had a great square with steps sunken into the ground, with what seemed to him to be a dry pool in the middle with yet another harpy in its center, but this one was made of stone. Aside from some couches on the far ends, there wasn’t much decorating the space. The other three walls on the fifth floor all had doors similar to what he had seen outside, but were all closed. Each floor above them had mirrors attached to the eastern and western railings to reflect the sunlight from the top. The northern and southern sides had more of the same diamond shaped stairs from outside, all the way to the top. Endless stairs. He wondered what possessed the man who ordered such a tall building to be his home.

"They used litters led by slaves. Otherwise I don't think anyone would dare to build such a stupidly high building to live in it."

The Queen by his side had a disapproving expression on her face, but did not look daunted by the prospect of climbing them, "do you reside at the top, Your Grace?" He sure hoped not.

She gave him a wry smile, "I'm a queen, I don't have much of a choice if I want to avoid even more rumours about my miser disposition," turning her back on him, she walked to one of the corners of the square which held a bronze ornamented box, "lucky for us, the masters got tired of the time it took to climb them, so they had this magic little thing done."

Looking at it closer, he could see the ornamented part only reached to their waists. All four corners had an extension of the metal dome above. On the top there were two thick ropes tied to it, which seemed to reach all the way to the top of the pyramid. Queen Daenerys opened a door and gestured for him to enter before coming inside with two other guards. She pulled a slimmer red rope tied nearby, tugging it two times before letting go, and not long after they started to ascend.

He noticed there was another similar device on the corner across from them. Bigger, like a platform made of wood with lower railings. There was no dome above it, all four corners were directly attached to the ropes and tied together at the center. Most likely used for supplies.

"Those were for slaves, so they could attend to their masters faster. Now we use them for supplies."

_ Of course. _

The ascent was slow, and he noticed not all floors had the same height or the same structure. The Queen must have noticed his gaze, for she started to explain, "this pyramid is divided in sets of five. In each set, the lowest is used for treasury storage, kitchens, laundry and some servants. The one above that is mainly for servants, and the three others are for clan families. Usually they had the clan's head and head's wife on the top floor, which are the tallest ones, the sons on the second floor and grandsons on the third. The higher their position in the pyramid, the higher their importance to the Sect Head, who obviously had the last five floors to his own clan."

Barristan nodded his head to indicate he was listening, and she continued, "as for structure… from what I've seen, they are mainly concentric. The outermost rooms are the better ones because of their natural light and fresh air, but all floors have corridors leading to a terrace outside, some of them reaching the opening at the center." She pointed to one such corridor and he could see the orange glow from the sunset coming from it, "if not for that I imagine it would be awfully easy to kill everyone inside even with a small fire." She smiled at the thought, and he had to agree with her assessment. A slave revolt would have been much easier had that been the case.

"I was told the other pyramids have the same structure overall, although the number of floors for each tier may differ," she sighed, a frown forming on her brows, "I have to decide what to do with them soon."

"I heard you gave one of them to the richest man of Astapor? Clan… Shez, was it?"

"Andok mo Shez. He has more use to me living inside a pyramid than lurking outside. And I can't kick Hamadna from hers either. One pyramid I plan on giving to the Crafts Guilds, but apart from that, I still have four mainly empty ones."

He thought about it for a while. He had assumed she would sit all her council on those pyramids after getting rid of the Octad, as she had done with the Shez Clan, and yet…

"Your Grace, two of your council-" the box stopped before he could finish his sentence. He noticed it wasn't the last floor.

Queen Daenerys smiled at him before leading the way down the hallways, "what do you think the average person would do after finding something they love?"

Barristan frowned, keeping pace with her and her guards, "they would try to reach for it?"

"To own it."

The Queen opened a door, and gestured for him to go in while shouting something in dothraki to the men at the end of the corridor, before entering the room herself. Her two Unsullied guards never left her side, much less lowered their guard around him.

The room was wide, but sparsely furnished. Aside from a desk with three chairs, two chaises and a bookcase, there wasn’t much.

The Queen poured two cups of water and stuffed them in her guards hands, not giving them the chance to refuse her. Then she poured another two and offered one to him. Barristan felt grateful, and started to better understand the rumours about her supposed miser nature.

"Do you mean you fear your councilmen would start to grow attached to their power?"

She smiled at him, "something like that." After finishing her water and making herself comfortable in one of the chaises, she mentioned for him to sit on the other couch, her expression becoming impassive as she faced him, "Ser Barristan," she started, "what brought you here?"

His jaw clenched at her question, but he couldn't lie to her, "I was dismissed from my position as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard by Joffrey Baratheon," she still had an even expression, so he continued, "and I realized then… ever since King Jaehaerys II, I have served no king worthy of sitting on the Iron Throne, Your Grace. After observing you for five moons, I came to believe you are the best Westeros could ever hope for, and hope I can be of service to you as part of your Queensguard."

She nodded, "While I appreciate your efforts, I can't let you make that decision just yet. There are a few things you must know before swearing yourself to me."

Barristan frowned, "Your Grace?"

The door opened to his side, and when he turned to look at the intruder his heart sunk.  _ Prince Rhaegar? _

The man looked the same as his prince. Tall, silver haired and purple eyed.  _ No, not the same. _ His eyes were lighter, more like the Queen's, and he was more tanned than Rhaegar had ever been. His hair was longer and tied in a low ponytail, while Rhaegar's never grew beyond his shoulders and was closer to a golden shade. Their overall bearing was also different, where his prince was elegant and melancholic, this man was solemn and... mellow.

The man frowned at him, "Ser Barristan Selmy, I imagine?" He closed the door behind him and moved towards the Queen, bowing slightly to her before sitting in the same chaise. Barristan still couldn't believe his eyes.  _ It can't be. _

"Viserys?"

Viserys gave him a mirthless smile, "Why, disappointed I'm not dead?"

“I did not mean that, Your Gr… Your Highness." It had sounded more like a question at the end, but he held the need to cringe at his own gaffe.

Viserys did not mind it, but still explained, "you must have seen it for yourself already, my sister is far more fit to rule than I would ever be. It could be considered as me abdicating in her favor..." he glanced at her as she side eyed him. The Prince returned to look at Barristan with a somewhat helpless smile, "...if we were in Westeros, talking about our heritage. But we're not. This is Essos, and Daenerys conquered Astapor on her own. Even if she were to die, her people wouldn't have me as their ruler."

He knew that was most likely true, but it still left a problem, "what about when you retake the Iron Throne?" 

The Queen looked amused by his question, "why would we?"

Barristan frowned, not quite following her. "The Iron Throne belongs to the Targaryens. It is your duty to your family to reclaim it from those who took it from you."

Her face grew cold at his answer, "I think you meant it is our  _ right _ to reclaim it. Not duty. Our father’s madness and brother’s whims caused their subjects to murder our whole family. That part of the Targaryen Dynasty is over thanks to them. Whatever legacy we leave behind will be on our own terms from now on." 

Barristan was stunned by her reaction, but he had no grounds to contest her. Restoring their family’s dynasty depended on their wish to do so. If they never wanted to go back to Westeros, who could ever force them?

Viserys put a hand on her back, soothing her, "my sister told me about you following her about a moon ago. Since then I have been thinking about your reasons to find us now. Don't you think fifteen years is a bit much to count as being late?"

Barristan looked down at the carpeted floor. He couldn't face the prince, "I have no way of explaining myself, Your Highness."

"I think you do, but you're not willing to," his voice was light, "I can understand your reasons, Ser Barristan. We were little children exiled to another continent, it would be years before we could reclaim our seat. While I cannot forgive you for leaving us to our fate fifteen years ago, I would be a hypocrite to hold it against you when I've done plenty to be ashamed of myself." He took a glance at his sister, who held his hand in return, as if encouraging him. 

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, "but still… I would like you to tell me what exactly you saw that made you believe I was… my father’s son.” Barristan looked at him shocked, but the Prince paid him no mind, “I was barely seven when we left the Red Keep, and I honestly don’t remember much from that time. Could you tell me what exactly I did to earn your disregard despite your sworn loyalty to my family?”

Barristan's face grew hot. Whether it was from shame or from anger he couldn't tell, "It has been a long time, Your Highness. I remember you telling Princess Rhaenys she smelled  _ dornish _ . Pinching the little princess when you thought no one was watching. You disdained both Rhaenys and Princess Elia for their ancestry."  _ Just like your father. _

Viserys looked at him confused, "weren't those father's words? Ser Willem always told me to stop parroting what adults said without knowing what it meant. Was that what convinced you I had the  _ taint _ ?" He grew indignant, "I remember wanting Rhaenys' cat for myself, but she wouldn't give it to me. Was that not simply a child's whim?" He got angry at the notion, "was  _ that  _ the reason why you abandoned us to our fate?”

“King Robert spared my life, Your Highness, and many others as well… He was a good knight, and you… You were only a child, it would be years before you were fit to rule…”

“So  _ that’s _ the reason we had to live on the streets without protection after Ser Willem died? The reason I had to take care of a five year old when I wasn't older than twelve?” The Prince rose from his seat, his voice growing louder, “The reason I had to go through  _ hell _ to make sure my sister was safe? The reason I had to turn into my  _ father  _ to have any semblance of control?!" His face and eyes were red, with nostrils flaring at his labored breathing. But all his rage slowly deflated and gradually morphed into unease and dismay and dread.

“You’re not!”

When Barristan saw the Queen she was already by her brother’s side, cradling his face with her hands while shaking her head, “You're not tainted, Vis. You were hurt, you were desperate, you were alone. I know that. You know that. But now you have me. You have Rhaego. You have Rhaellon. It won't happen again. We will never let it happen again. I promise you. I promise."

The Prince kept shaking his head while she spoke, but after her promise he eventually relented, nodding slightly and burying his head with a sigh to rest on her tiny shoulders, his own sagging down, defeated. Daenerys found Barristan's eyes over her brother's shoulders and offered him a sad smile, while gently rubbing the Prince's back.

Barristan was aghast by the sight before him. He didn't know what to say. Had he caused that? Had he unknowingly cursed his Prince to the fate of his father? He couldn't accept that. Yet the moment he saw Viserys he knew there was no hint of madness in those violet eyes. They were somber, haunted maybe, but not mad. But what had happened just now? What happened to them when no one was aware? What had they gone through? And for what? What had earned them their lives in exile, without protection, with nothing but each other?

Why had he come to them now?  _ What brought him here? _

He knew the answer. 

Barristan fell on his knees, unsheathing his sword to lay it before them. He had never thought choosing his post back then would have caused them so much pain. He didn’t know another way to redeem himself to the siblings aside from offering them his unwavering loyalty from now on.

The siblings let go of each other and turned to him. The Queen took a step towards him and started in a gentle voice, "it wasn't really our intention to hurt you, but some things must be said. Rather than let it rot inside of us, it's better to let it out so it has a chance to dissipate. We all made mistakes we deeply regret, but there's no turning back. We can only try to make amends, and hope for the best."

Barristan did not bother making excuses for himself or flattering them, "I would still like to swear myself to your service, if you'll have me."

She didn't answer him, "I don't plan on going to Westeros. I don't want the Iron Throne. My only goal is to keep my family safe and to try to make the world a better place, where no man can own another."

Barristan knew she was giving him a choice to turn back. He did not flinch.

Prince Viserys did not spare his old heart, "Rhaegar had a son with Lyanna Stark. He was raised as Ned Stark's bastard," Barristan’s head snapped up and he saw the Prince glance at his sister with a look that resembled mockery, "rumour has it Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia and married the Stark girl instead. This son should be trueborn and have a chance at the throne."

"NONSENSE!"

Daenerys and Viserys looked surprised at his outburst, but he did not care, "Prince Rhaegar would never have done such a thing! He couldn't even if he wanted to!" To think of annulling a marriage that bore him two children already. Rhaegar might have been too lost in his prophecies, but he loved his children. He would never forsake them. Dorne would burn King's Landing to the ground if he tried.

"I also don't believe it, but it was found in a septon's diary."

"It's null. There's no argument about it," he spat. As if a mere septon could have the authority to annul the marriage of the crown prince. Wouldn't Westeros descend into chaos if any man could forsake their wife and children with a few words? 

Queen Daenerys paid no mind to the heat in his words, “That should be all you needed to know before swearing yourself to me. But I must say this: you do not owe us anything, and we don’t wish for blind loyalty. Should any of us stray, as a Queensguard it would be your duty to warn and council us to the right path. Neglecting to do so would give ground for dismissal.”

Barristan straightened his back as he kneeled on one knee, and swore his oath while looking at his Queen’s eyes, “I, Barristan Selmy, swear on my honor to protect the Queen and her family. I will do my duties until death, and through that time, keep all secrets of the Queen safe from spread. I will defend the Queen’s name and honor. I will wed no wife, father no children and hold no land. I swear to serve my Queen: for now and forever.”

The Queen held his gaze, “I swear to never ask of you to break your knightly vows and to honor your loyalty to me.” She smiled, “rise, Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Queensguard.” 

He rose to his feet and sheathed his sword. His shoulders felt heavier than ever before with the title, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be chained to the past.

Prince Viserys would not forgive him easily if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, “I wish you good luck in working with her bloodriders and bloodguards. I imagine Ser Jorah would also be delighted in seeing you when he returns.” 

He did not blame his callousness, but could scarcely believe his words, “Jorah Mormont? He is a spy!”

“ _ Was _ a spy. I outed him not long after we left Pentos, and he swore himself to me in Vaes Dothrak. Ser Jorah is loyal, Ser Barristan, you don’t need to worry about it. But Viserys is right that he might not welcome you at first.” She looked at him with a teasing smile, “I think you’ll have a worse time handling my bloodguards.”

Barristan knew the bloodriders were a khal’s guards, so he assumed her bloodguards should refer to her dothraki women guards. “That dothraki girl truly did not look pleased with me,” he offered her a small smile of his own.

“I’ll introduce them all to you soon enough. Ser Jorah and my Unsullied Commander are on a mission to the south, but they should return any day now.”

There was a knock on the door, and the Queen called for them to enter.

A young dark skinned woman holding a round stone in her hands came in and bowed. He had seen her before at court by the Queen’s side, “Your Grace,” she courtisied. 

The Queen went to her side and held her arm, guiding the young woman to them, “Missandei, this is Ser Barristan Selmy. Starting today he is the Lord Commander of my Queensguard.” She looked at him, smiling freely, “Ser Barristan, this is Missandei. For most people she’s only a scribe and should remain as such for now, but please treat her as if she were my sister when in private.”

Barristan felt surprised at the Queen’s fondness of the scribe, but still obliged, “Lady Missandei.” 

Missandei was a quiet woman, and seemed a bit embarrassed at her Queen’s casualness, but did not refuse her care, “Ser Barristan,” she smiled faintly at him before turning to her Queen, “Your Grace, some of the men you’ve sent to scout the mountains have returned. It seems they were successful.” She held out the stone in her hands, blushing slightly, “this one was my favorite, but there are many more, of all colors, sizes and shapes.”

The stone was round and as unremarkable as any other from the outside, but it had a crack in the middle, dividing it in two halfs. When Missandei held them apart, his breath got caught in his throat. The Queen gasped audibly and the Prince gaped at it as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Slaver’s Bay depended on slaves since its origins because they had no natural resources, and now you find something not even a year after you take a city?” Viserys looked at his sister incredulously, “Where did this luck come from?”

Daenerys did not take her eyes from the stone, holding one half in her hands while murmuring, “I guess three is my lucky number?” 

The stone had concentric golden layers, muted on the borders and brighter on the center. They were uneven, cracked at some points, with a glowing blue mineral filling the space between them. The same blue had gathered at the center of the stone, and it shone from a darker shade of blue to a bright, clear blue and into beautiful violet. Like a twilight sky. He couldn’t decide if the colours merged together like flames or like waves, but it was a breathtaking sight nonetheless.

The Queen seemingly agreed with him, as she could not take her eyes from it, “does it have a name?”

“The men who found it have never seen anything like it before, Your Grace. Like I said, they all have different colors and shapes. Some are hollow, some look like perfect rings, some shine like rainbows, but they all look the same from outside, so for now they are using one name for all of them.”

Daenerys finally tore her eyes from the stone to meet Missandei’s golden ones, “which is?”

The scribe had a subtle smile on her face, “Rainbow stone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stone: https://www.opalauctions.com/auctions/20cts-yowah-nut-opalwonderful-pair-821183  
> (The stone is ridiculously small, but please pretend it's fist-sized)  
> And yea I'm giving them opals, geodes and agates because they really look like normal stones from the outside and it makes sense that no one ever found them. I even have a headcanon geological map for Slaver's Bay, so they have every reason to be there. While I'm at it, I HATE that they live in a desert, it was supposed to rain!! The sea is hot and there's a fuckn moutain around them, why doesn't it rain there?? YiTi is pretty much the same latitude and that shit's green as hell!
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> I hope I didn't upset any BarriStans. He's a great guy and I honestly would've done the same in his position, but you can't blame Vis for resenting him.  
> In the books/show he was "proven" right about his assesment of Viserys, so there wasn't much to say about that. But now I've taken that away from him and he has to face the consequences of his choice. If he had been by their side, you can't convince me Vis would have grown as deranged as he was at the end, and Dany would never have been sold. That said, aside from everyone side eyeing him at the beggining, there's not much drama, and I don't know if he'll have another chapter.


	7. The Butterfly of Naath I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not sure if I took too long, I have completely lost all sense of time. 
> 
> It's not mentioned, but I'm retconning Rhaego's colors. I had done it according to show!baby, but apparently Dany had visions of him? Copper skin and silver hair it is! And purple eyes. (I want platinum blond Jason Momoa and you can't shame me)

“Again!”

Childish laughter filled the room as Prince Viserys throwed little Rhaego up in the air yet another time, completely unable to refuse his nephew's demands. Missandei could not help but smile amused at the older Prince's exasperated face, even as she understood his plight. Besides the Queen, few people had success in saying no to the little prince. Daenerys sat by her side with an equally amused smile of her own, one hand supporting her chin, having completely forgotten the pile of documents in front of her in favor of watching their fun. Her eyes were filled with warmth and love, and Missandei felt her own mood grow lighter. The Queen always let her intrude in their family's moments, treating her like she belonged with them. 

Missandei smiled and shook her head slightly at her own thoughts, moving her eyes back to the pile of cards from people who wished for an audience with the Dragon Queen.

One year had passed since Daenerys had taken Astapor for her own, and Missandei still had mornings when she woke dreading it had all been a dream.

From the moment she had locked eyes with Daenerys Targaryen, she knew that was no ordinary woman, although at the time she couldn't know whether that was a good or a bad thing. She had made sure to be even more careful in her speech, but when Kraznys had gifted her, even though her face remained impassive, her heart had thundered painfully in her chest. The Queen had said nothing to the exchange, but the moment they were away from her former master’s eyes, she had held Missandei's hand while casting a disgusted look at the collar on her neck. Even without any words being said, that gesture alone had been enough to reassure her.

If she had to choose one word to describe her Queen, it would be  _ fire _ . Fire could help you heal and keep you warm, but it could also burn you and destroy all you held dear. Fire was life and death, and Daenerys embraced both with her whole being, never hiding from repercussions of either side. She was compassionate and forgiving, but also ruthless and cruel. Measured, but decisive.

Missandei knew she had been sold to Khal Drogo as a child bride, a slave in everything but name, but she had trouble understanding how a life spent roaming aimlessly and without any control of her own had led to a woman so… enlightened. Daenerys had leadership ingrained in her bones, and her choices always led to good outcomes, but she was never arrogant about it. She listened to her council and advisors and weighted their words against what Missandei could only assume was her own experience, before making decisions. She was never afraid or ashamed of admitting ignorance on any given subject, eager to learn more from anyone willing to teach her, regardless of their origin.

Missandei could not imagine a worthier Queen, but what truly made Daenerys Stormborn great was the fact that she  _ cared _ .

Had she been a silly young girl, freeing Astapor in a rushed and thoughtless decision, as she had claimed to be, Missandei would still have followed her. She had seen many buyers show a disgusted look upon learning how the Unsullied were trained, but all of them had simply bought their soldiers and left soon after. She imagined they wanted to return to their homes and pretend the Slaver's Cities did not exist, as if by doing so it would erase any guilt they might have felt on buying their soldiers and servants. That is, if they felt any. Maybe they simply did not wish to sully their eyes with the master's methods.

But Daenerys  _ cared. _

She could have bought her army and left for Westeros, but she didn't. 

Even after learning she had never intended to go back to Westeros in the first place, it did not diminish Missandei's gratitude. Daenerys could have lived freely with her khalasar and her dragons on the grass sea, but still chose to come to Astapor. As for why… Missandei never asked, but her Queen's actions were enough to prove she did not intend on staying in Astapor forever.

Despite being Queen, her council still held considerable power over Astapor, even though she had made clear there was no such thing as a permanent state, including their seats. Starting from the third year, two seats would be changed according to the votes from the people they represented, one from the nobles and free men, and another from the freedmen. The maximum period they were allowed to stay in their seats would be nine years, and they could only be reelected after six years. 

Missandei knew her Queen wasn't entirely sure about this method, but that did not keep her from experimenting. She had an inkling about Daenerys' intentions, but since her Queen had not spoken about it herself, she wouldn't ask.

It was obvious, however, how much Daenerys valued  _ freedom.  _

Missandei flipped a card from Guild Master Gignel na Nuz, who wished to discuss the project for their glass garden renovations. She put his card on the  _ urgent _ pile.

The Crafts Guilds also had an elective system for choosing their Guild Master, who would be voted for by all the crown’s Crafts Masters every five years. As they had to frequently join council meetings and deal with administrative issues from all guilds, there wasn’t much time left for them to hone their particular skills, making the position somewhat less desirable. Directly under them were the Chief Crafts Masters who were voted for by their own guilds. Besides administrative work, they had to cultivate their skills and direct disciples, as failing to do so could cause them to lose their prestige. All guild members had to go through examinations held every three years for masters, two years for journeymen and yearly for apprentices, and Daenerys had ordered that maintaining the same standard for three consecutive examinations opened grounds for expulsion from the guild. Considering how cushy their lives could be, she had turned it into a highly competitive atmosphere, lest they swallowed resources without spitting anything in return.

Despite the burdensome responsibilities, many had named themselves to compete for the Guild Master and Chief positions, as they received a small part from the profit from those underneath them. The Queen had made it clear, however, that in the case of one's disciples showing no improvement in their assessment, the master would be held accountable and could even lose his position. 

After establishing the Crafts Guilds in one of the pyramids, many masters who still held doubts had made up their minds and decided to follow the new Queen, but as there were too many of them, Daenerys had to make an impromptu competition. Every guild could only afford five masters, counting the ones who had already accepted her offer. Since the competition had been public, there wasn’t much disagreement towards the winners, but Missandei knew there were ongoing plots to unseat some of them. When she told her Queen, however, she was amused by it, and said to not interfere unless the plots turned bloody.

It could be seen, then, that many people kept their eyes on the pyramids. 

Daenerys had reallocated the remaining nobles to live with Hamadna and Andok, and from the four left, had ongoing projects for two.

One of them – Missandei's favorite one – had been slowly transformed into a teaching house. For now, it was used to teach children and freedmen how to read and count, but her Queen was continuously stuffing it with books she bought from other cities, and commanding teachers and scribes to make multiple copies of them. Learning was not mandatory, but when Daenerys insisted at least the members from the guilds should learn how to read, she was met with reluctance from her council. Paper and ink were for so many people was expensive, and an alternative still hasn't been found. Some freedmen who could teach did not care for it, and would take the children outside and write on the dirt with a stick. When Daenerys learned about it she had praised them endlessly while promising to find a better solution soon. 

Missandei smiled at the memory, still sorting her cards. Before reaching the end of her pile, a knock sounded on the door. When the Queen gave them leave to enter, Ser Barristan followed by Mossador came in, bowing in greeting. 

Her brother approached her, handing over yet another pile of cards. Those, however, were smaller and without any adornments, some even dirtied from passing through so many hands before reaching hers.

Her secret reports.

Missandei could not deny the pride she felt at holding such an important position.  _ Spy Master. _ Only those closest to their Queen knew about it, but she did not mind. Her job was much easier when people thought she was just a harmless little scribe the Queen favored.

Like a butterfly from Naath. 

From the very start Daenerys had been open with her wish to establish a spy web. "In Astapor, to begin with," she had said, keeping her big eyes on Missandei's person, clearly intending for her to spearhead all of it. The Queen's favoritism towards herself had baffled her, but the challenge of it also sparked something within her. Such a good opportunity to fight against the masters, in a position that suited her like a glove. Missandei would be a fool to dismiss it, and she was anything but.

She wondered how many people had guessed the downfall of the six Octads had been brought by her hands. It had surprised her when Daenerys accepted her plan unquestionably, only making changes where it concerned their safety and secrecy. 

If Missandei was completely honest, the Queen's blind trust had both worried and flattered her, but this last year had proved Daenerys to be a very good judge of character, who had a knack for telling lies from truth. Apart from her dothraki and a few choice people, she never let her guard down despite her generous nature, which eased some of the worries she shared with the Queen's guards. Viserys seemed to be the only one who never worried for his sister, and she wondered if that came from complete trust or something else.

The coded cards were mostly about movements from nobles and some freedmen. Hamadna and Andok needed to be watched at all times, but so far they still haven't contacted each other, most likely still believing the other had sold the Octad for more leverage with their Queen. Some freedmen tried to gather groups to fight against Daenerys' mercy to noblemen, but most people didn't care about it as long as they were fed and had hope for a better future. 

There were also cards about movements on their port, about who traded with whom, and what was traded. Most of it unimportant matters, but it did good to keep herself on par with everything that happened in Astapor. Soon her spy web would expand, and the experience gained now was precious.

Missandei paused on the last card, astonished. 

Daenerys had, six moons prior, asked her to familiarize herself with the westerosi Houses. Ever since Ser Barristan had joined them, she had been sure more would soon show up on her shores, wanting something from her. Missandei did not dismiss her words and had done as asked, for who could ever ignore dragons? But she had not expected them to come so  _ early. _

Yet there it was, the unmistakable sun and spear.

She raised her eyes to find Daenerys discussing the new recruits training with Ser Barristan and Mossador. She could not help but feel nervous. Missandei knew the story of their family. She had heard many arguments between Prince Viserys and Ser Barristan over their dead brother. Stannis Baratheon had been crowned King not long ago, so it wasn't possible they wanted their Queen to fight against a unified Westeros now, was it?

"Dany."

All eyes turned to the Prince, who had a princeling hanging on his shoulders. He pointed with his chin towards her direction, making all eyes travel to her instead.

The look on her face must not have been a good one, as Daenerys' immediately changed from her usual carefree to a stern one, "what happened?"

Instead of answering, Missandei passed her the card with the Martell's sigil. Her Queen's eyebrows frowned confusedly, "didn't Stannis Baratheon win the Iron Throne?"

"He did, Your Grace."

Daenerys looked at her full of reproach for using formalities, but made no comment. She handed the card to Mossador, "have someone keep track on them. If it is who I think it is, they must be very careful to not leave traces or be caught by them."

Her baby brother nodded and departed at once, his Unsullied training still deeply ingrained in him. It pained her to see them like that, even if both Mossador and Marselen had grown much more tranquil in the last year. 

Missandei felt a gaze on her, and turned to meet Daenerys' sympathetic eyes. They shared a small smile, understanding and comforting. 

"Do you think it's Oberyn?"

The Queen looked at her brother, who had his usually impassive expression plastered on his face, although it seemed somehow forced. Missandei had been close enough to Daenerys to see how they had gone from barely speaking to each other to holding entire conversations through their eyes alone, and had gotten much better at guessing their thoughts herself. Viserys was a silent but gentle man, only speaking openly when it came to his family. He had absolutely no interest in governing affairs, and Daenerys never pushed him to help her, letting him accompany his nephew and train with her dothraki as he pleased. Missandei had never been particularly close to Viserys, but he seemed to share his sister's eccentric goodwill towards her and the Unsullied's Commander. 

"Maybe. We can't be sure. But they certainly want something from us, otherwise why come here at all?" She turned to Ser Barristan, "do you know any of them?"

"I have met Oberyn Martell before, Your Grace. He is… a dangerous man, to his enemies. But I don't see how he could mean you harm."

Daenerys tapped her forefinger on the table, eyes lowered. After a few moments, she sighed while rubbing her temples, "please take Rhaego to nursery, Ser Barristan. I wish to speak with Missandei and Viserys alone. Make sure no one disturbs us."

"At once, Your Grace." The old knight turned to the little prince who laid sprawled on Viserys' lap, nodding off. He had an indulgent smile on his face as he gathered the princeling on his arms, careful not to wake him as he bowed slightly to the Queen and went out as commanded. If he had any qualms about being kept in the dark, none of it showed on his face.

Viserys rose from the couch but hesitated to sit on the chair by the desk, his face somewhat reluctant, "do I have to hear everything again?"

Daenerys shot him a unimpressed look, "I glossed over a lot of things when I first told you about it because you weren't ready to deal with more. It's about time you hear the rest of it."

He sat down with a disgruntled face, but did not question her again. Missandei frowned her eyebrows at their exchange, not sure what to do with it, but before she could think too much she saw a dainty white hand over the dark red sandalwood, palm turned upwards in a clear invitation for her to grasp it. 

Daenerys' eyes were soft and warm, with some amount of guilt in them. Missandei held her hand in an attempt to reassure both of them, only to have it held back just as tightly, her thumb softly caressing her ebony fingers. 

Daenerys closed her eyes and took a deep breath before meeting her gaze again, "I'm… sorry for what I'm about to tell you. It is painful, and I wish I could avoid it altogether, but…" she glanced at her brother, "Vis raised me, he knew when I wasn't the same. I couldn't hide it from him," her violet eyes returned to meet golden, "and you…" she hesitated, unsure whether to go on. Missandei knew that look. The look when she was second guessing herself because her decision hurt someone else. The look when she thought herself to be selfish despite having the best intentions in her heart. Missandei both loved and hated it. 

"Daenerys, I love that you care so much about my safety, but you can't protect me from everything." She tugged at her hand, willing her to look deeply in her eyes, "I'm not weak, and you're not selfish for wanting to share your burden."

Daenerys held her gaze for a moment, before nodding slightly and accepting her words. Suddenly her entire being relaxed, slumping over the desk with one hand frustratedly ruffling her hair, sighing loudly. Her other hand had not moved an inch, still grasping her own firmly, "you're right. Of course you're not weak. You're Missandei of Naath," she spied on her from between her fingers, a small devious smile hanging from her lips, "the strongest woman I know."

Missandei smiled both amused and helpless by her teasing, pulling her hand away from hers in retaliation. Everyone knew how much of a sorry excuse for a warrior she was, but Daenerys insisted on her training until she could at least defend herself. Even so, it did not keep her Queen from teasing her endlessly about it. Daenerys had so many faces it fascinated her, yet the one she loved the most was her playful one, even when she used it to cover her shortcomings. She tended to be too hard on herself, to the point where it felt like she had to constantly fight against a persisting old habit of hers.

Daenerys shot a quick glance on her brother, who had been leaning on his chair with folded arms, waiting for them to finish their little moment, before straightening herself on her own seat with another deep breath, her face regaining a serious look, “I need you to know this because you are my Spy Master and also my most trusted advisor. You need to be as informed as possible to help me in the wars to come, and many will come if we are to end slavery,” she paused, “Things have changed, but it doesn’t mean the past is meaningless. That is why you need to know, despite my feelings about it.”

Missandei could understand her reasoning, but her words were confusing, “the past?”

“Do you remember my dragon dreams?”

Missandei paused to think about it. She knew both the Queen and the Prince had such dreams occasionally. Daenerys had said they were glimpses of the past, “you mean you dreamed about something that happened in the past that may have some influence in our future?”

“Not quite. I call them dragon dreams because when in it, we see the past through the eyes of a being higher than the people in it. Like a dragon watching them from above. It is very… detached from whatever is happening, to the point of it being quite jarring at times.” She looked at her brother, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair with a heavy expression on his face. Missandei was reminded of that night, many moons ago, when the whole pyramid woke with the Prince’s horrified screams. She did not know what the dream had been about, but remembered Daenerys had stayed with him until morning after that, which had seemed to break the invisible barrier present between the siblings up until that point.

“It wasn’t a dragon dream, then.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Daenerys hesitated, “I can’t really consider it a dream, but it is easier to explain as such.” She sighed, “I saw my whole life, Missandei. From the moment I married Khal Drogo to my true death almost forty years later. All of it with my own eyes. With my own feelings. It wasn’t a dream, but I have no way to convince you I was sent back in time to the very beginning of it all.”

Missandei considered her words. And then considered her person. She somehow found it rather easy to believe the Mother of Dragons. 

  
  


X

  
  


It had taken five long nights for Dany to relay everything that had happened in her past life. The more she spoke, the more Missandei felt the little pieces of a puzzle falling together, forming a hauntingly tragic picture. At some points Viserys had to take a break, lest he broke something in his rage, and she couldn’t blame him. Dany’s detached way of narrating her own death made bile rise up in her throat and tears form in her eyes, but she had not cried in front of her Queen. Dany had warned her it would hurt, but she had not expected it to be so heartbreaking.

She understood, then, the affection her Queen held for her. The instant trust and her willingness to bare her soul for Missandei. Her guilt. Her protectiveness. Her disgust at the collar on her neck, as if it was the vilest thing to ever exist. Her promise to burn to ashes anyone who attempted to chain her again. Her wish to become close like sisters but holding back on her account.

The look on her face when she had first called her  _ Dany  _ broke Missandei’s heart. It was of genuine surprise and almost childlike glee as she bit her lips to contain what must have been the brightest smile at simply being  _ accepted _ . Even now, after everything she had gone through, all she wanted was family. To love and be loved freely. To ensure her people had the freedom to do the same without worrying about what was to come next. Missandei wasn’t one to hold on to negative feelings, but she couldn’t help her disdain at the people of Westeros for what they had done to her Queen. She could not understand the need to push aside a woman who wanted to do so much for her people, who had worked so hard for them in favor of a man who never even wanted the position in the first place. What good could come from putting such a man in the Iron Throne? 

Even her lowest point was heartbreaking, when she became everything she had fought against her whole life. While Missandei could not agree with her actions, she could also not fault her for not trusting Cersei’s surrender. For refusing to give up after everything she had lost.

Regardless, the ones who had done it had no power now. Even if they did, Dany was determined to not set foot on their land again, and Missandei could not blame her for it. The dead were a westerosi problem just as the slavers were an essossi one, and in Missandei’s opinion, their reality was the worse one, for there was no way to magically defeat their own kind and be done with it.

Even so, like her Queen had said, things had already changed. Stannis Baratheon had never been crowned king in her past life, and Missandei wondered if someone else had been brought back like Dany. 

“It could be just an effect from my returning, but...” her carefree smile gained a sardonic edge, “if I had to bet, I would put my money on the epitome of honor, Jon Snow. We  _ do _ lead similar lives after all.” 

Viserys scoffed at her words, but said nothing, and she suddenly had an epiphany on why he always said so little to his sister. Wasn’t it because Dany was already fifty? Missandei frowned, unsure of what to make of her age. She had the experience and the bearing, but not the appearance nor the attitude. Missandei did not know whether to change her behavior to a more respectful stance or to simply accept her Queen’s oddness.

“Missi, is there any news from their group?”

Missandei smiled despite herself at Dany’s endearment, her chest warming. Anytime she thought about how the Queen had managed to keep a kind heart despite all the horrors she had been through, a deep sense of protectiveness rose in her heart. She could not fight in the front lines, but that did not mean her job was any less important to their safety.

“I believe they are still scouting for information about you. They have been all over Astapor, and were lastly seen visiting the orphanages and the Dragon’s Nest, but besides asking a few questions, they haven’t said much. The inn where they are staying isn’t ideal for eavesdropping, and I didn’t want to risk getting our people caught.” It had been almost a fortnight now since Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand and a few of his daughters had arrived, but there were no attempts to seek the Queen so far.

“It’s alright, let them look. If we’re lucky, they’ll see for themselves I have no intention of going anywhere and leave on their own.”

“Even in your third life you can’t possibly be that lucky,” Viserys shot a disbelieving look at her, “if they are here it must mean Stannis' hold on the throne is weak. And if that wolf spawn really changed things, why put another Baratheon on the throne?”

“He’s most likely still going on about not wanting it for himself,” she paused and frowned, “what I  _ do  _ wonder is what the Spider is doing by letting this all happen.”

Missandei thought about her past and their other Aegon nephew, “are you sure the Spider wants to end House Targaryen?” 

Viserys’ grip on his cup tightened until his fingers turned white, but he kept his mouth shut in a scowl. Dany looked sympathetically at his hand, her voice light, “I’m not, but it’s either our end or playing puppet master with a Targaryen king. He couldn’t control me, so he tried to get rid of me in favor of Jon. If I had not killed him he might have attempted to put Aegon on the throne if Jon proved too difficult to manipulate. Since there’s no way of knowing Aegon’s origin, I can only guess he’s not truly our nephew as he was Varys’ last choice to put on the throne.” She sighed, “whatever way you put his actions, he doesn’t mean well. All that ‘for the realm’ nonsense is nothing but a silly cover.”

“Shouldn’t we kill him? Before he has the chance to harm us again.” Missandei looked at Viserys torn between pity and anger. The Spider had manipulated him, but he was the one to sell his sister to a horse lord. He did not bother to hide his guilt and shame, but his own anger seemed to win over any other emotion. Whether it was directed at himself or the Spider, only he knew.

Dany tapped her knuckles on the table, looking at the sky beyond her balcony. A lazy smile slowly hooked itself on the corner of her lips, “We should,” her violet eyes traveled to her brother’s, “but the Spider is not the only man I want dead.” She rose from her seat, stretching her arms up as she walked towards the balcony to bask in the morning sun, “I have a feeling the Martells won’t be the only ones wanting something from us, big brother. Who’s to say we can’t exchange favors?”

A knock sounded on the door, and Missandei rose from her seat to open it. On the other side, Ser Jorah stood with a grim face, holding a card in his rugged hands. She did not need to ask to know where it came from.

_ Finally. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honest question: do you all want me to describe their clothes and hair and accessories? I'm not sure if I like it or not. Sometimes a description can be so against my aesthetic sense that I just picture something completely different from the text.
> 
> Also, thank you SO MUCH for all your comments! Sometimes I get dangerously close to dropping this and then a comment pops up and I drag myself back to it. It really makes my day. (:
> 
> Next is definitely Obby.


	8. The Red Viper I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.  
> Took a *little* longer than intended, but I haven't dropped this. We're all good, right?
> 
> About this chapter... Oberyn is ~50 because I read somewhere Obara was 30 and I'm really done with teens having babies (Rhaego is an obvious exception). If he seems a little too mellow, bear in mind where he is and his circumstances.
> 
> Also, in the past life Arianne and Quentyn were in Norvos because Reasons. They came back like a year after Dany died and there was civil war in Dorne with nobles trying to climb up. There was barely any support for them and both died eventually. I don't know enough houses to say which one ended on top, but it's irrelevant. The point is, Dany never heard about them.

“Are you truly sure about this?”

Oberyn glanced at Ellaria by his side, a slight furrow worrying her beautiful brows. Ever since he had told her about the marriage contract signed years ago in Braavos, she had been afraid of the Dragon Queen’s reaction to it. 

An exiled princess raised by her child brother in the streets, living by depending on rich magisters’ whims, running from assassins and spies and ending up sold by her only family to a dothraki horse lord twice her age. Even so, she had somehow managed to birth dragons from stone and the prophesied khal of khals, refused to return to Vaes Dothrak to join the Dosh Khaleen when her husband had died and instead had conquered Astapor, liberating all slaves and changing the economy and the city itself to the point where he could scarcely recognize it. 

The girl had not suffered a small amount. And now they had come to her only after she had already amassed a substantial amount of power by herself. He certainly wasn’t blind to how it would look from her perspective.

“Do not fear, my love. They need allies in Westeros if they’re to reclaim their family’s seat.”

If Oberyn was to be honest, he also didn’t want to be the one to talk to the Dragon Queen. It was unfair, but rarely anything wasn’t. Although the children were innocent, he couldn’t bring himself to spare any love to dragons. Had it not been for their family, his dear sister would never have met such untimely death, and neither would her children. He certainly couldn’t risk Robert’s wrath towards his family and people for them, much less after that ungodly war which gave them nothing but the bones of their beloveds.

Dorne couldn’t bleed for them again. 

Not unless they had something to give in return. 

He held Ellaria’s soft hand in his, and started towards the endless stairs leading to the queen’s throne room. It was still early in the day, the sun far from reaching the middle of the sky, but it did not take long for a thin sheen of sweat to form in his back. 

Oberyn did not know what he would find at the top, even though he had seen the queen a few times from afar already. Her silver hair and violet eyes shone as brightly as they had when she was a babe, but her skin had darkened considerably from all her years of wandering. She was kind, warm and just. She liked singing, playing and dancing with her people. She laughed loudly and heartily, and sat in whatever position felt comfortable, uncaring of propriety. Her clothes and adornments were simple and varied, as he had seen her in flowy dresses, leather and silky vests, loose and tight trousers, all in light and bright and earthy colors instead of her own House ones. Her hair would be either in a high ponytail or loose, always carrying at least one braid with rings and bells hanging from it.

Yet this was the same person who had fed nobles to her dragons.

He knew it had been a warning to those who wished to move against her. A smart move. His own reputation had a similar effect in warding off foolish people, but he couldn’t know just from rumours what she was truly capable of. He’d be a fool to underestimate her just based on her age. Given what she had been through, it wasn’t surprising for someone like her to be so concerned for the downtrodden, although it said something of her character that such concern had not changed the moment she had gained power of her own.

However, he was sure the westerosi lords wouldn’t appreciate any of it. 

Daenerys in Westeros was hard to imagine. She might have been born in Dragonstone, but being raised all her life in Essos wouldn’t endear her to those pretentious lords and ladies. Having her firstborn be the son of a horse lord would make their noses turn so high they would never see the ground again. Although her child would block the way to one with dornish blood to ascend the throne, at least he wouldn’t be in danger of death from their hands. Quentyn might not be anything special, but the boy had a big heart and could grow to love his step son. 

If Oberyn had his way, however, he would rather have Viserys on the Iron Throne.

He was the rightful king after all, even by dornish law, and had been raised in Westeros until he was seven, most of the lords having seen him at least once. His firstborn by Arianne would be the heir, placing dornish blood on the throne, and his niece would certainly have an easier time whispering in her husband’s ear than Quentyn would ever have with his wife. 

Of course, all of it were mere conjectures.

He knew the man was alive, but the rumours about him were baffling. Some said he had some unspeakable disease, others said he had a maimed face and never left the pyramid without a mask. The whores had never seen him, but knew for a fact the man had no interest in politics, although some whispered he was a slag, but all of them unanimously agreed the brother of the queen could only have the face of a god. Obara had even heard a drunk claim he could turn into a silver stallion when the moon was full, before the other drunks corrected him that what he turned into was a silver dragon.

He might not have seen the dragons yet, but he knew there wasn’t any silver one.

He could guess the siblings’ relationship wasn’t the best one, with one selling the other for an army. A futile move, given their small numbers of dothraki. He had noted all of them, even the Unsullied and training freedmen, answered to Daenerys and Daenerys alone. The dragons also seemed to consider her their mother and obeyed her commands alone. The “nest” she had arranged for them inside the city had been a former pit, and now had tall walls built around it with spikes on top to keep anyone foolish enough from trying to climb it. The gates were guarded, but people were allowed to come close to them and try their luck to see the dragons. Yet, even living so close to humans, there had not been any death caused by them. Not without command, at least.

With such an imbalance of power between Daenerys and Viserys, Oberyn wouldn’t know how to navigate until he saw both with his own eyes. He knew too little, but another fortnight of observing from afar would not do him any favors. Taking the throne would be much easier with dragons and Unsullied, but should Daenerys wish to take the power from the nobility as she had done here, who could ever go against her? On the other hand, having Viserys might be easier on the nobility, but a weak and powerless king was a curse to the people. He did not even know if Viserys had claimed one of the dragons. Regardless, no matter who sat on that seat, Oberyn had to tie them to House Martell. Even Aegon the Conqueror had allies in before uniting all Seven Kingdoms, the siblings certainly couldn’t dismiss Dorne because of their lack of aid in the past.

Before reaching the last flight of stairs, a familiar old man in black armor with a blood red cape hanging from his shoulders approached them. Oberyn could scarcely believe his eyes, and a smirk formed on his lips. “Oh? It seems someone finally found its way back to its true master.”

Ser Barristan bowed his head, “Prince Oberyn, Lady Ellaria.” He raised his chin up again, eyes remaining unaffected by his jab, “Queen Daenerys awaits for you, if you’ll follow me.”

Oberyn tried hard to hold his tongue despite his feelings towards the knight, reminding himself of the reason for his being here. Ser Barristan had been fighting in the war back then, and Elia’s death was not his fault, but he could not help his contempt at the epitome of knightly honor who had chosen to serve the murderers of the former royal family. Where would he have to worry about the safety of the Targaryen kids if the old knight had done his duty to them? He eyed the three headed dragon sigil in high relief on the old knight's shoulder and the scaled red cape on his back. She had not forgotten her colors after all. “It seems your queen doesn’t care much for white. Does it help you remind which family you serve?” 

Ellaria pinched his waist, and he bit his tongue as he gave her a harmless smile. 

Ser Barristan had a grave face as he paused and stared at his eyes, “I’ll never forget, Prince Oberyn.” His arm gestured towards the highest door on the fifth floor, “please. Be careful of the threshold.”

The threshold was high. Behind it was a large but mostly bare throne room, supported by tall and wide pillars. Queen Daenerys sat on the only furniture in it, a red wooden bench placed at the bottom of yet another flight of stairs. Above those, in the back of the room, was a stained glass mosaic of a tree, with a thousand branches and a hundred thousand leaves of different shades of green. Underneath the leaves and around the trunk, the bigger pieces of sunny yellow colored glass tinted the throne room with a warm glow, and at the bottom of it all were saplings of different sizes, colors and shapes.

The queen was quite different from what he had seen of her so far. Sitting properly on her wooden bench, both hands resting on her lap, her spine was straight but relaxed. Her posture was both regal and imposing, as if she had been born a queen and not a street rat, and not even the curious look in her eyes diminished her noble bearing. A blood red tokar with golden patterns embroidered on the borders framed her body, with fine golden fringes and the three headed dragon sigil intricately stitched on the fabric hanging from her shoulder. Her crown was the same one she used on the streets, a delicate tiara made of small golden leaves and rubies, and her hair rested over her exposed shoulder in a loose but sophisticated braid, from which hung a single golden bell and three silvery rings.

He knew the bells were for victories, but although he had seen many dothraki women wearing the same rings, he still had no guess as to what they stood for.

What stole his attention, however, was the man standing by her side. Were he not a more colorful version of Rhaegar, Oberyn would have found him unspeakably handsome. Tall, broad shouldered and lean, with short silver hair and tanned skin; his eyes did not have any hint of the dead prince’s delusional woes, although they lacked emotion when sizing him up. So different from the curiosity mixed with wariness from when he was young, yet it did not seem as if he remembered Oberyn from Braavos. Wrapped around his shoulders hung a dark linen scarf, and the black long sleeved tunic he wore under it clung to his arms like a second skin when he crossed them. The tunic reached to his knees, and beneath them were reddish trousers and leather boots. The embroidery on his clothes seemed as detailed as his sister’s, but so subdued in colors he could not properly see what it was. Overall, both siblings looked well and healthy, causing Oberyn’s shoulders to relax imperceptibly. 

A pretty naathi girl with a queerly shining butterfly behind her ear stepped forward, introducing her queen, “you stand in the presence of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of Astapor, Khaleesi of the Dragon Horde, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.”

Oberyn focused his eyes on the queen’s small face while bowing slightly with a hand over his heart, “I am Prince Oberyn of House Martell, Your Grace, and this is my beloved, Ellaria Sand,” he gestured to his lover, who came forward with a curtsy. None of the former fear could be seen on her lovely face. 

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace.”

Queen Daenerys nodded, acknowledging both with a polite smile, “Prince Oberyn, Lady Ellaria. I suppose it is no surprise, but I’d still like to introduce my brother,” she gestured towards him, who stood like a statue by her side, eyes trained on them. “Prince Viserys Targaryen.”

Oberyn had already guessed by their seats, but to hear her completely skipping her older brother in the succession still felt unnatural. They did not seem at odds with each other, as Viserys had not even blinked at his title. Could he have abdicated to her?

“It is my pleasure to finally meet the Prince of Dragonstone, Your Highness. I’ve heard quite a lot of rumours about you in the streets. Luckily none seem true.”

Viserys’ eyes became slightly turbulent at his words, but he nodded in acknowledgement at him, “yes. The horse one is a favorite of mine.”

“If you forgive my bluntness, Prince Oberyn, what brought you so far from home?”

Not one for idle talks. He could not tell if she was being protective of her brother or herself.

“Dorne wishes for an alliance with the dragons once again, Your Grace. In return, when you sail to Westeros, 40,000 dornish spears shall be yours.”

She took him in for a beat, then glanced at Ellaria by his side before asking, “and what sort of alliance would this be?”

Did she think he came to offer himself? “A marriage to tie our Houses once more, Your Grace. My nephew would be most pleased to be your prince consort.”

Her gaze went back to him with a frown. “I thought Trystane was a child?”

He returned her frown, confused at why she would mention Trystane. “He is, Your Grace, but I meant his older brother. Quentyn is already nine and ten, quite suitable to you.”

She stared at him, as if she had trouble understanding his words. Viserys by her side did not try to conceal his confusion, “you have two nephews?”

“Two nephews and a niece. Arianne is Doran’s eldest child, heiress to Dorne.” Oberyn did his best to conceal his own bewilderment at their reactions. It wasn’t a secret his brother had three children. Ser Barristan should have known about it, but his face was stone and gave nothing away as he stood on the other side of the queen. 

The queen looked at her hands. Her forefinger, adorned with a pearly silver ring, tapped on the back of her other hand. Without looking up, she asked, “I heard Stannis Baratheon was crowned king not long ago? Isn’t it a little too late to make a move?”

“We don’t mean to go to war now, Your Grace. Stannis’ reign is founded on promises, far from stable. But when they fall through, we should be ready to strike at once.”

Her eyes returned to his face, bare from any emotion. His back, once drenched in sweat, now grew cold and rigid.

“Would you mind telling us about Westeros?” She gave him a faint smile, “It is quite hard to tell lies from truth from sailors’ mouths.”

Oberyn ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. Nothing was settled yet. “Ned Stark was made Hand of the King after Jon Arryn died, over two years ago. I’ve heard there was… A disagreement between him and Robert when word reached them of your pregnancy and dragons. Robert died gutted by a boar when hunting to relieve his anger.” Their expressions remained neutral. He held his hands in front of him, continuing, “Stannis had claimed Cersei’s children to be bastards, and Ned Stark went to him, bringing his daughters and men along. Renly Baratheon also ran, naming himself king and marrying the Reach’s daughter.” Viserys had a faint smirk on his face at that, and Oberyn hoped that was a good sign for him. “Well… Stannis had the North and the Riverlands, and most likely the Vale as well. Renly had the Stormlands and the Reach, but no claim. The Lannisters were alone in the worst possible position.” He smirked. “I don’t know where Stannis got his Hand from, but the man has a knack for talking sense into people. I’ve heard he was the one who proposed for Stannis to name Renly’s firstborn son as his heir, and then the Reach agreed to back him if they got another marriage to the North. Ned Stark's eldest daughter was to be shipped to Highgarden after the war, but both Ned and Stannis' girls got kidnapped from Dragonstone.”

“Were they found?”

Oberyn took in the queen’s worried eyes. It didn’t surprise him that she cared for little girls, but he felt at ease nonetheless to see her fearing for their lives, especially when they were her enemies. He wanted revenge, but he could not force himself to help a child murderer to the throne.

“Yes, Your Grace, and unharmed. Tywin Lannister knew there was no way out for him, and had them smuggled to get himself a bargain. I’m told Stannis only found out when they reached the Red Keep. That’s how he managed to spare and free Jaime Lannister from his vows to the kingsguard.”

She frowned, “what about Cersei and her children?”

“Cersei was beheaded for claiming her bastards were Robert’s seed and Joffrey had the same fate for being an impostor king. The other two kids are under the protection of their dwarf uncle, although I’m not sure where they are.” He shrugged. “Most likely running from their grandfather.”

The queen became indignant at his words. “If he had hostages, why not save his daughter and grandchildren?”

“My dear,” Oberyn smiled, unable to hold the derision in his voice, “Tywin Lannister only cares for his golden son. The dwarf isn’t worth a single finger of Jaime’s, and after the humiliation Cersei put him through, he’d kill her with his own hands if kinslaying didn’t tarnish his name even further.”

She closed her eyes, turning her face to the side. There was no rage in her, no labored breathing or tensed muscles. The only sign of any distress was the idle fiddling with her pearl ring.

Viserys eyed his sister for a moment before turning to him. “Where was Dorne in all of this?”

“All of it happened in less than a year, Your Highness.” He tried to keep the edge off his voice. “The war happened in the Westerlands and Riverlands, too far from us.”

Viserys’ eyes studied him for a moment too long before they landed on Ellaria by his side. Despite her having barely said a word so far, he seemed more wary of her than of him. 

The queen let a breath out before focusing on him again. “Stannis won the Iron Throne. Am I right to assume he called on you to swear fealty?”

Oberyn looked at her warily, but she did not seem to put much importance in it. “You are.”

She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Prince Oberyn, I wouldn’t blame you for swearing allegiance to Stannis. With most of the continent on his back, how could Dorne stand against him?”

She was right. They couldn’t. The fact remained, however, that he would not be here had Stannis agreed to give him the Mountain’s and Amory Lorch’s heads. Instead he had looked at him with barely concealed disdain and humiliated Dorne in front of his whole court during the coronation. The only saving grace had been his treatment of the Iron Islands when refusing to return Balon Greyjoy’s heir and even threatening to marry the boy to a commoner if he ever heard of such request again. Oberyn had no doubt both him and Balon had returned to their homes while plotting for Stannis’ death that day. 

Dorne wanted justice. And they would get their due one way or the other.

“Although I did kneel in front of Stannis, I have not said the words, Your Grace. Should you accept our proposal, Dorne’s spears and support will be yours in perpetuity.”

Queen Daenerys smiled at him with some sympathy. “Your offer is most generous, Prince Oberyn, but I’m afraid I must refuse it. I have no intention of returning to Westeros.” She paused, then added, “in perpetuity.”

Oberyn stared at her face, searching for any indication of it being a poor attempt at a jest. There was none. Although her eyes seemed sympathetic, her spine was straight and her expression open and honest. There was no fiddling, no unnecessary moves to cover her true thoughts. She meant it.

She meant it.

He couldn’t understand. How could she mean it? How could they leave everything their family had accomplished behind? Leave their legacy to usurpers? 

He looked at Viserys, who still had his arms folded in front of him nonchalantly as if his little sister had merely commented on the weather. An ember sat sizzling in Oberyn’s stomach. “What about you?” His words were stiff to his ears. “You know the Red Keep. You know what you lost. What the usurper cost you. You would leave them in your castles? With your treasures? Destroying the legacy of your House?”

Viserys gave him an insincere half-smile. “Yes. Manipulate me, why don’t you? I’m obviously the easiest target.”

“You know my words are true. How could anyone be forced out of their homes and not want to get it back?”

“And what is it to you? When has Dorne ever cared about us? You could have married either of us ages ago, yet you only come now. I wonder why that is? Could it possibly have something to do with our dragons?” 

“When you were young we couldn’t risk Robert’s rage if he ever found out we helped you. Dorne had suffered enough being forced to fight for the Mad King to spare their princess, only to be given her bones along with her children’s. Your fate had nothing to do with us.”

“Elia’s fate also has nothing to do with us. We were children. Daenerys wasn’t even born yet. Blame our father and brother all you want, I can guarantee you my hatred for them is no less than yours, but don’t expect us to do your bidding because of what happened in the past.” He uncrossed his arms and walked towards him, stopping only a step from where he stood, violet eyes piercing his onix ones. “I’ll say this: yes, you’re right, I want back what is mine, and I’d rather burn the Red Keep and Dragonstone to the ground than let that scum live in it, but I refuse to go back to Westeros. I refuse to sit on the Iron Throne. I refuse to work tirelessly for the people who would revile me for my every action. To feed the people who would spit on me simply because of my birth. To protect those who would stab me in the first chance they got.” He tilted his head, giving him a malevolent smile, “Westeros can rot for all I care.”

“My feelings are somewhat similar to my brother’s,” Daenerys stated lightly from her seat, “although I wouldn’t wish harm on the smallfolk.” She side eyed her brother as he walked back to her side, rolling his eyes at her. She suppressed a smile and faced Oberyn, serious. “But I also can’t leave my people behind. They are my responsibility now, and need me and my dragons to protect them. As much as I wish to make Tywin Lannister pay for his sins, I can’t force them to fight for something they have no relation to. And I won’t.”

Oberyn took a deep breath. Then another. They wouldn’t budge, he knew. He knew it was useless. If he tried to force their hand it would end with him as dragon feed. Yet his anger wouldn’t lift. His frustration wouldn’t cease. So many years. So much waiting. So much planning. For what? His fists clenched on his sides, and Ellaria’s hand stroked his back, trying to sooth his restlessness. It didn’t help. Nothing would help except for Tywin’s head in his spear. He wanted to blame them. He should blame them. How could they not seek justice? Elia was their family. Rhaenys and Aegon were their family. ...But so was he. And what had he done in all those years? He had waited. Waited for them to grow up on their own. So much could have gone wrong, yet they had grown and gained power by themselves. And he came to them, certain they would jump at the first opportunity to claim back what was theirs.

Yet what was this? They didn’t want it. They wanted nothing to do with Westeros. Could he blame them for that? When even their allies only wanted to ride on their coattails?

He couldn’t.

And yet…

“What about Elia?”

The voice was not his own. It belonged to another man. A desperate, hopeless one. Ellaria grabbed his arm with both hands, supporting him, comforting him, but kept her silence by his side.

Daenerys had some sorrow in her, but Viserys was the one who spoke, taking half a step in front of her. “Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon’s deaths are on our father and brother as much as the Lannister scum. I apologize on behalf of House Targaryen for the pain my family caused yours, but bear in mind we were also their victims, and no one can ever make it right to us. You are her brother, a grown man, and you didn’t avenge her in all these years. Why should we be responsible for that?”

Oberyn nodded. Of course they shouldn’t. They weren’t raised together. Daenerys never even knew any of them. Why would they risk everything to avenge ghosts? It didn’t make it any easier, however. He would just have to do it himself. Like he should have done years ago.

“Prince Oberyn.”

He looked up to see Daenerys rising from her seat, placing a palm on her brother’s arm as she stood by his side. Her eyes were gentle for the first time since he stepped in the throne room.

“Although we can’t help in avenging your sister and our niece and nephew, it doesn’t mean we can’t aid you in anything else. You said yourself the vow made to Stannis was empty, does that still stand?”

Oberyn eyed her warily. “It does. We never even bowed to dragons, much less…” His eyes narrowed, disbelieving. “You can’t mean...?”

Her own brows were high, in mocking innocence. “You’re the one who said it. I imagine the feeling must be shared by all dornishmen? 40,000 spears… And exclusive trade deals with Essos. Of course, such things should not be rushed, but isn’t it a good time to start?”

A good time to start. Indeed. Doran’s support had been slowly dwindling thanks to his long winded plans. It would be alright if he could place one of his children by the king or queen’s side, but now with them refusing to return to Westeros… It would not bode well for his brother. But independence… What dornishmen didn’t pride themselves for never bowing to dragons? For keeping their laws and royal titles? What dornishmen did not resent his brother for his inaction against Elia’s death? Even their family had suffered for his plans, and Oberyn had gone along with him, both blind by grief to everything around them.

It would not do. It could not go on. 

He stepped forward, face stern, holding out his hand. She took it, her dainty hand firmly gripping his forearm, a small satisfied smile forming on her face.

“A perfect time to start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any hypocrisy detected is fully intended, but I think it was so subtle it's barely even there.
> 
> I've only written one chapter ahead – shame on me, I know – but I'm having a lot of trouble focusing lately. Hopefully by posting I can get in the right frame of mind to write more.
> 
> Also thank you all for all the lovely comments you've left me! Unfortunately they're gone since I had to delete the note, but they warmed my heart!
> 
> And thank you for reading!


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